The Neural Whip Series
by Braxin
Summary: Adventures in an AU with lots of T&T goodness as the story progresses.
1. Chapter 1

**—Chapter 1—**

T'Pol was troubled. Just ten days past, the Enterprise had returned Klaang to the Klingon High Council and shortly afterwards she had accepted Captain Archer's request she stay aboard the Enterprise as his second in command. Now she had to deal with Commander Tucker, for the man's lack of respect of the chain of command where she was concerned was something she could not tolerate, if she were to succeed at this endeavor. The memory of it all, still stung.

"Turn this ship around, now!" - The human's eyes had been a cold fury, barely contained.

"Our mission is to return the Klingon to his homeworld. Another rescue attempt could jeopardize that mission." - Her words were the essence of logic. Why couldn't this infuriating human understand that fact?

"The Captain specifically told us to come back for him." - He wasn't going to let this go.

"As Commanding Officer, it's my job to interpret the Captain's orders." - A last stab at logic.

"I just told you his orders! What's there to interpret?" - He refused to back down.

Glancing around the Bridge, T'Pol saw that the crew looked at each other uneasily. If Commander Tucker chose to usurp her authority now, she strongly suspected they would obey his orders, not her's.

"Captain Archer may very well have told you to return for him later because he knew how stubborn you can be."

As maddening and emotional as the Commander was, he was still the most interesting human on board this primitive ship, and the fact that she found him so troubled T'Pol, for it hinted at flaws in her own character.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

The Commander's eyes looked into T'Pol in a most insolent manner. Neither her species nor her rank impressed him and that rankled T'Pol, for she wished to prove her worth to the Commander.

"You might have risked Klaang's life in a foolish attempt to swing back and rescue the Captain."

He had done it. He had upset her balance, for T'Pol could feel her anger beginning to show in her face, and in her voice.

"I can't believe this!"

That much was true. She had sensed his outrage at what he perceived to be treason against this ship, and its captain.

"The situation must be analyzed logically." - Listen and understand, Commander, she thought. Obey!

"I don't remember the Captain analyzing anything when he went back for you on that roof."

The human brought his face closer to hers, perhaps in an attempt to intimidate her. If so, it was insulting.

"That is a specious analogy."

T'Pol had risen from the command chair, bringing her face closer to his, six point two inches from the Commander's face. Estimated.

I am not afraid of you human, she thought. You do not even intimidate me. But your insubordination is making me angry. You should beware of that, human, and be glad that my culture instills in me the discipline to resist the full flowering of that anger.

What troubles me most though, is that I relish this chance to draw close to you even in your anger, as I did earlier in the DECON chambers when my hands ran over your body, and yours over mine, and more disturbing still, I'm not properly ashamed of my desires, or my lack of control where you are concerned.

The hiss of the Bridge door sliding aside to admit Ensign Hoshi, brought T'Pol out of her reverie, and thankfully drew her away from some of the more troubling implications of that exchange.

* * *

It was early in the nightwatch as T'Pol moved through the halls on her way to the Mess Hall. She knew the Commander would be there at this hour. The man had a sweet tooth and usually found his way here almost every night around midnight, and sure enough, he was here, and he was alone. Perfect.

Trip looked up from the little project he had going, to greet the SubCommander.

"Evening, T'Pol."

She came to stand before the Commander.

"I'm building a birdhouse for Crewman Evers," said Trip, a six inch wooden dowel in one hand, paint brush in the other. "Wanna help?"

"I do not, Commander. I am here because you and I have a problem."

"Which is what?" said Trip, looking up at T'Pol.

"You behavior on the Bridge recently, bordered on insubordination, Commander. You will promise me that it will not happen again. You will do so here. You will do so now."

"Look, I thought you were just going to leave the Cap—"

"I do not want to listen to you rationalize your behavior, Commander. I am a Vulcan so I am trying to reason with you, but if all you understand is force, I could muster some up for you, not out of anger, for Vulcans do not feel anger, but as a device to illuminate the gravity of my words."

"Now that's something I'd like to see, SubComm—"

T'Pol lunged forward and grabbed the Commander by the front of his uniform, lifting him to his feet one handed, as the Commander's own hands moved towards hers.

Do it, thought T'Pol. Try your strength against mine, human, and find it lacking when facing a Vulcan.

An instant later she grunted, in pain and surprise. The Commander had used the small rod in his hands against the dorsal side of her hand, near the carpal bones, to break her hold on him at the wrist, then manipulated the rod so that the tip of it pressed hard into the back of her hand quite painfully, digging into bone and nerve, as his other hand bent her fingers backwards while maintaining an unpleasant pressure upon them, forcing T'Pol to her knees.

She could not rise, attack, or even move, though she knew that Commander Tucker could easily break all four fingers in her right hand before backhanding the other end of the wooden dowel into the side of her head, with unpleasant consequences for her well being.

The door hissed open and Crewman Kovac entered the Mess Hall. He froze at the unexpected sight.

"Fuck off, Kovac," said Trip.

Crewman Kovac looked at Trip, then T'Pol, then back at Trip.

"Are you deaf, crewman?" said T'Pol, irritation apparent in her voice at the thought of witnesses to her humiliation. "Get out."

"Y-Yes, sir."

"See," said T'Pol, "that is how a proper subordinate obeys a superior officer."

Trip looked down at T'Pol for a moment, then said, "Would you like to talk about this?"

T'Pol looked up at Tucker and logic dictated her response.

"Yes, I would like to talk."

The Commander narrowed his eyes, as if trying to fathom out if her words were genuine, or simply an attempt to escape her predicament.

"Don't try to be clever, T'Pol. It's not your day."

"You have my word, Commander," said T'Pol, and when released, climbed to the chair across from Trip's, rubbing her hand.

"Green tea?" said Trip, as he made his way to the beverage dispenser.

"Mint, please."

"One mint tea, hot," said Trip to the robotic dispenser. "One tall Ceylon black tea, iced, add coconut milk, sugar and one tablespoon of vanilla bean extract. Large scoop of matcha ice cream."

He returned to the table a moment later, set down their drinks and his ice cream, and sat, facing T'Pol.

"So, what's all this about, T'Pol?"

Commander Tucker rarely used her rank to address her, seemingly preferring to use her name, though there seemed to be no malice in the Commander's omission.

T'Pol took a sip of tea, then said, "Your conduct towards me on the Bridge during our recent encounter with the Suliban was unacceptable. I can not effectively command this ship in a crisis, if I must get my subordinate's approval before I can act."

"You know why I did it."

"Why you did it is irrelevant. You and I must reach an agreement or I must leave the Enterprise."

Trip sighed. He understood T'Pol's position. He looked at the Vulcan silently.

"You should have placed some trust in me, Commander Tucker."

"We don't know each other very well, T'Pol, so trust is in short supply, both ways."

"That is true, Commander. And the result of that is frustration and annoyance, at least on my part."

"Frustration and annoyance," said Trip, with a slight smile. "Those are emotions, T'Pol."

"Yes. It seems you have the rare gift of irritating me, Commander."

Trip smiled, and said, "It is quite a distinction."

"Quite," said T'Pol dryly, then eyed the little dowel next to the Commander's tea. "I was over confident to a fault, Commander, but your defense was effective."

"I was just lucky, T'Pol."

"No, that was not luck. You have surprised me more than once, Commander."

"That's because I'm a devious bastard," said Trip, "while you are logical, straightforward and sweet, T'Pol."

"Sweet…," said T'Pol, and there was no telling how she felt at being labeled so by the Commander.

Trip's smile was too bold to please T'Pol, and considering that he was once again within arms length, she was tempted to act, if only to reedem herself. But if the Commander managed to overcome her once more and she was humiliated twice in one day… The thought of that was too much to bear.

* * *

The next day, Trip walked into the Mess Hall at lunch time, to find T'Pol eating alone as usual. The crew was not quite accustomed to a Vulcan on board, and as it was unknown how long she'd be on board they were not certain if she was a crewmember or just a visitor.

The chatter in the Mess Hall fell off noticeably. Everyone had heard Kovac's story of T'Pol forcibly knelt before the Commander, and the crew was split between believing Kovac's tale of a physical confrontation, or an alternate explanation which maintained that T'Pol was actually pledging her undying devotion to the Commander. Of the two, the smart money was on confrontation.

T'Pol looked up as Trip walked up to her table.

"Commander," she said with a familiar nod. "Would you like to join me?"

"First," said Trip in his command voice, which filled the Mess Hall, though it was not overly loud, "I hope you'll accept my apology, SubCommander. You're an asset to this ship and an excellent officer. I apologize for my insubordination on the Bridge."

T'Pol felt every eye on her and was not surprised. Her sharp hearing had caught wind of the fact that much of the chatter so far had concerned her, the Commander, and last night's curious happenings.

"I accept your apology, Commander."

"Thank you," said Trip, sitting across from T'Pol, as the crewmen in the mess went about their business. "But this dog and pony show was just for the crew. I've made my apologies in a more practical manner."

"How?"

"I've augmented the heating and gravity systems in your cabin. You can now crank them both up to Vulcan standards now, for your comfort, and lower them back to Earth standard if you ever decide to throw a party for the crew in your quarters."

T'Pol was pleased at the thought of those comforts and even more so that Commander Tucker had been considerate enough to take care of her so appropriately.

"That was kind of you, Commander. Thank you. Now if you will get some food and join me, I would like to run some figures past you. I believe I have found a way to optimize the engines and gain a two percent improvement over our current standards at best speed."


	2. Chapter 2

**—Chapter 2—**

Two days later.

"Captain," said Hoshi, "I'm picking up a distress call. Audio only."

"Let's hear it," said Archer.

The slight hiss and spatter of static, then, "This is Ulvar, Captain of the Sultara. We are under attack by two ships of the Orion Syndicate. We ask for assistance, if you are capable of rendering it without endangering your own ship."

"Do we have a lock on their location," said Archer, looking at T'Pol.

"We do, Captain," said T'Pol. "Two hours, six minutes at best speed. I have already transmitted the coordinates to Helm."

"Travis, take us there. Warp 5."

"Aye, sir," said the helmsman.

Some two hours later, the Enterprise floated next to what remained of the Sultara, an older Vulcan ship.

"SubCommander," said Archer.

A moment later, T'Pol said, "I have two life signs, Captain. One Vulcan female, one Risan male. The Risan is in need of medical attention."

"Lieutenant Reed, take your team and check it out," said Archer.

"Yes, sir."

"Take Trip with you. If the Orions left any nasty surprises behind, he's the man to disarm them."

"Yes, Captain," said Malcolm.

"I should go as well, Captain," said T'Pol.

"No," said Archer. "Let them clear the ship and you can speak to the Vulcan once she's brought aboard. They have their comm unit translator."

That was logical, thought T'Pol. Every comm unit had an app which StarFleet intended to turn into a Universal Translator eventually, though now it was only programmed to translate Vulcan and Risan, but it should do the job until the Vulcan was brought aboard.

"Yes, Captain."

* * *

The boarding of the Sultara went well enough, with Malcolm leading the way and Trip watchful for booby traps, though none were discovered. Malcolm's team had found the Risan, an elderly male, hiding in one of the ship's storage lockers outside the dorm rooms, while Trip found a Vulcan female named Ke'Relle, wedged between some tool lockers in Engineering. Both were quickly ushered to the Enterprise's Sick Bay. The Risan remained there, the Vulcan was invited to dine with the captain.

"It's about time you showed up, Commander," said Archer as Trip slipped into the Captain's Mess to take his usual seat.

T'Pol and Ke'Relle were already seated, and Ke'Relle gave Trip a slight smile. T'Pol noticed this, and frowned almost imperceptibly.

"It's good to see you again, Commander Tucker," said Ke'Relle.

"Call me Trip."

"As you wish, Trip," said Ke'Relle. "Call me, Baby."

"All right, Sexy," said Trip.

"No, I said, Baby," said Ke'Relle, then caught a glance of Trip's face. "Oh, I see what you did there, Trip. You may be certain that I am flattered."

Trip and Archer glanced briefly at each other, and laughed: this was their first, a Vulcan with a sense of humor. Archer leaned over to say something to T'Pol, while Trip nodded to the captain's steward as the man brought him a beer, and Ke'Relle a menu of what Chef had prepared for the Captain's Table.

"I was just telling, Ke'Relle," said Archer, "that we have picked up the trail of the Orions, and are hot in pursuit, Trip."

"Fine by me, sir," said Trip.

"You've all made your selections?" said Ke'Relle, after taking note of the fact that she was the only one studying a menu.

"We all have standing orders for Friday evening," said Archer. "It's salad, two slabs of baby back ribs, fries, baked beans and coleslaw for me, a spicy lentil soup and a Middle Eastern vegetarian meze platter for T'Pol, and gumbo and a seafood platter for Trip."

"I will have the same as Trip, please" said Ke'Relle to the steward, handing the man her menu.

Archer knew that Vulcans had stopped consuming animal products after the coming of Surak, and so was suitably surprised at Ke'Relle's dietary choices. It seemed that T'Pol felt the same, for as the steward nodded and moved to fulfill their food order, T'Pol held him in place with a gesture.

"The Commander's meal contains seafood, Ke'Relle, ocean dwelling fish, shellfish and crustaceans," said T'Pol, certain that her fellow Vulcan had missed something in the translation.

"I'm aware of that, T'Pol," said Ke'Relle. "My Earth Standard English is adequate."

"You are v'tosh ka'tur," said T'Pol, visibly surprised, which for her meant only the slightest hint of surprise, before she nodded that the steward should go about his duties.

"What is that, T'Pol?" said Archer.

"It translates to 'Vulcans without Logic', Captain," said Ke'Relle, "and now I believe I have disturbed the SubCommander."

"It would take much more than that to disturb me, Ke'Relle," said T'Pol. "It would be more accurate to say that you have surprised me."

"I've never heard of Vulcans without Logic before," said Trip. "What percentage of the population do you represent, Ke'Relle?"

"A small one, but on full moons, v'tosh ka'tur sprout horns and go on murderous rampages, Trip," said Ke'Relle, with a wink at the Chief Engineer.

"She is being facetious, Commander Tucker," said T'Pol.

"Really? said Trip with a smirk.

"Don't spoil my narrative, T'Pol," said Ke'Relle. "I was about to have our human friends shaking in their boots."

"You are in a good mood, Ke'Relle, considering that your shipmates stand in danger," said T'Pol, a hint of disapproval in her tone.

"They were my shipmates only in the technical sense," said Ke'Relle, "and in any case, we are on a mission to rescue them, if possible. I fail to understand the logic of your disapproval, T'Pol."

Archer's curiosity prompted him to speak.

"What do you mean, shipmates only in the technical sense, Ke'Relle?"

The steward brought out a salad for Archer, a bowl of lentil soup for T'Pol and two bowls of gumbo for Trip and Ke'Relle. The Vulcan's attention was torn between the food, and Archer.

"I bartered my services in Engineering for passage to Earth, Captain," said Ke'Relle, audibly sniffing her bowl of soup and licking her lips. "I'm concerned about the safety of the Sultara's crew, Captain, but I haven't known them much longer than I've known you."

A moment later Trip and Ke'Relle tucked into their gumbo with visible gusto as Archer and T'Pol looked at them both, then each other. T'Pol raised a brow, Archer snorted and laughed.

"What do you think?" said Trip.

"Oh, it's delicious, Trip," said Ke'Relle.

"Wait 'till you taste the seafood platter, Ke'Relle," said Trip with a smile. "A grilled red snapper fillet dusted with Cajun spices, a flounder fillet pan-fried in butter, a fried soft shelled crab, three fried shrimp, six fried oysters, coleslaw, fries and a spicy crawfish boudin sausage link."

"Sounds positively decadent, Trip," said Ke'Relle.

"Don't feel bad if you can't finish it all," said Trip. "It's my one meal of shameless gluttony each week."

"I promise to finish every morsel," said Ke'Relle. "I will not fail you, Trip."

"I find your loyalty... intoxicating, Ke'Relle," said Trip with a wicked smile.

T'Pol looked at the Commander and then Ke'Relle, and Archer noted that the SubCommander's eyes had narrowed quite a bit, before he turned his attention to his own salad. The rest of the meal was largely consumed in silence, save for the groans, moans and sighs emanating from Trip and Ke'Relle. Trip never contributed much to the conversation during Friday night's feast until after dessert and T'Pol seemed preoccupied, though she seemed to study the interaction between Trip and Ke'Relle much of the time.

"That was a glorious feast, Trip," said Ke'Relle as the steward cleared her plate.

"It's not over yet, Ke'Relle," said Trip, and rubbed his hands together as the steward placed a small bowl and a cup in front of each diner. "Tonight, I give you a brandy & chocolate bread pudding dusted liberally with cinnamon and brown sugar, and then briefly torched on top, so that the sugar carmelizes. We chase it all down with a cup of French Roast coffee."

Ke'Relle sniffed the bread pudding and groaned with pleasure.

"Trip always picks our desserts," said Archer. "He's got a special touch."

"You are eating dessert, T'Pol?" said Ke'Relle with a mock look of disapproval. "That is not logical. These are largely empty calories."

"Dessert is the one dietary concession I have made since boarding the Enterprise, Ke'Relle. I have developed quite a sweet tooth in a short time, and I hold Commander Tucker responsible for that fact."

"Let's take our dessert and coffee to my quarters, Ke'Relle," said Trip, only to be interrupted by the unpleasantly loud clatter of T'Pol's spoon hitting her cup and the plate beneath it.

Everyone looked at the SubCommander.

"Apologies," said T'Pol. "It slipped from my fingers."

"As I was saying, you'll need hours to digest this feast," said Trip. "Since you're going to Earth, I'll put on a couple of human movies which I think you'll like and we can engage in some shop talk afterwards. I'd love to ask you some questions about Vulcan engine design."

"That sounds a pleasant way to spend an evening, Trip," said Ke'Relle, standing gracefully and scooping up her coffee and bread pudding. "Captain, gratitude for your hospitality."

"You're welcome, Ke'Relle," said Archer, waiting until Trip and Ke'Relle left the Captain's Mess, to speak again. "Judging by those two, we should rename the Enterprise to 'The Love Boat'."

T'Pol gave Archer a deadpan look, and said, "That is a bit premature, Captain."

"Is it? I wonder."

* * *

The next morning, by ship's time, T'Pol stalked the halls of the Enterprise, until she ran into Ke'Relle.

"Ke'Relle," said T'Pol, "I was looking for you. I tried your quarters, repeatedly, but you did not answer."

"Logic dictates that I was not there, T'Pol."

When Ke'Relle did not elaborate on her whereabouts, T'Pol said, "May I ask where you were?"

"I spent the night in Commander Tucker's quarters."

T'Pol flinched slightly at that, though Ke'Relle did not notice, and said, "I see."

"Yes. He's a surprisingly pleasant companion. We conversed 'till dawn, then fell asleep together in that overstuffed bean bag of his. It was was surprisingly comfortable."

"I would have no idea of that," said T'Pol, "for I have never entered the Commander's quarters."

"So why did you wish to speak to me, T'Pol?"

"Did you engage in sexual intercourse with the Commander?"

"That's why you wanted to speak to me, T'Pol?"

"No, of course not, Ke'Relle. I was just curious."

Ke'Relle smiled, and said, "Are you attracted to the Commander, T'Pol?"

"A Vulcan/Human pairing would not be logical, Ke'Relle."

"That was not my question, T'Pol."

T'Pol would not dignify Ke'Relle's ludicrous ideas with a response.

"I suspect my quess was accurate," said Ke'Relle, and before T'Pol could protest, Ke'Relle continued speaking, "and so I'll tell you that we did not engage in sexual intercourse. Does that ease your mind?"

"You are being ridiculous, Ke'Relle. I have no personal interest in the Commander."

"Than you do not mind if I take such interest?"

"Do as you like," said T'Pol, her eyes cold. "In any case, I wished to notify you that we have found the Orions."

"Oh, that is good news," said Ke'Relle.

"The captain will call a meeting, shortly. He asks that you attend that meeting."

"Certainly, T'Pol."

Minutes later, T'Pol entered Engineering, to find Commander Tucker occupied at one of the consoles.

"Commander," she said, when standing near-by failed to draw his attention as it usually did.

"T'Pol. Sorry, I was distracted."

"By that control panel, or by Ke'Relle?"

Trip turned to look at T'Pol, and said, "What does that mean?"

"It was a simple question, Commander, but I would not advise you to pursue a relationship with a v'tosh ka'tur. Their lack of logic would prove troublesome over the long term."

"Duly noted, SubCommander. What can I do for you?"

"I wished to notify you that the captain would speak with us in the conference room."

"Ok, but as far as I know the comm system still works."

"I was just passing by, Commander."

Trip smiled, then leaned against one of the vertical steel beams running through Engineering, and said, "If you're crushing on me, T'Pol, you have to tell me. It's in the Rules & Guidelines manual, Section 10, paragraph 3."

Trip knew well enough that T'Pol had no interest in him, but still couldn't pass up a chance to toy with her.

"Crushing on you, Commander?"

"Strongly attracted to me."

"That is ridiculous, Commander. I am certain that you can find your own way to the conference room."


	3. Chapter 3

**—Chapter 3—**

The Enterprise had tracked the Orions to a backwater world, barely M class. After a brief exposure of the Enterprise to any possible planet-side sensors the Orions might have installed, the ship retreated behind a huge asteroid caught in the planet's orbit, lest the ship be detected. Archer, Trip and Malcolm were joined by T'Pol and Ke'Relle, in the Situation room at the back of the Bridge. They were assembled there in order to decide on a course of action.

"Tactical," said Archer, "give us an overview."

Malcolm tapped the video touch screen set into the tabletop and the optical data displayed the Orion camp.

"This looks to be a semi-permanent camp, used fairly often," said Malcolm. "It's likely they gather all the loot and slaves they manage to capture here 'till they're satisfied with their acquisitions, then they call in for transports to take it all back to Syndicate space. Currently, we have a dozen buildings, eighty-three Orion life signs and another four hundred or so assorted life signs, among them Andorian, Vulcan, Tellarite, Klingon, Risan and another half dozen or so we have no knowledge of, though T'Pol or Ke'Relle might have such knowledge.

"It's safe to presume the Orions watching over a captive slave population are heavily armed. We can not get much more data, without putting some boots on the ground, or risk exposing the ship to any planet side scanners employed by the Orions in order to take more extensive sensor readings. I propose to go down to the surface with a security team to take a closer look. We'll take a shuttle and make a wide detour to the planet below and the camp, in order to avoid detection."

"Take Trip with you, Malcolm," said Archer. "He used to bow hunt wild hogs in the Everglades and if he can sneak up on those canny bastards, the Orions should be a breeze."

"Aye, Captain," said Malcolm, looking at Trip.

"I would like to volunteer my services, Captain," said Ke'Relle.

"That's kind of you Ke'Relle, but—"

"I served eight years in a light-infantry unit, Captain. This sort of thing was my bread and butter, as Trip would say."

"But—" said Archer.

"Why didn't I fight the Orions?" said Ke'Relle. "The captain of the Sultara would not allow any weapons on board. I could have disarmed one of the Orions, but to what end? I'd still have to overcome two crews worth of Orions, and if I'd been successful, the Orions would have retreated to their ships and blasted the Sultara to scrap iron with their shipboard weapons."

"Oh, yeah," said Trip. "That's pure logic you're hearing, Captain. It's a beautiful thing."

T'Pol gave a long suffering sigh, and said, "You are a fan or logic, Commander? Is that what I am hearing?"

"Of course, T'Pol. When have I ever strayed from the rigorous path which logic demands of us all?"

T'Pol opened her mouth to speak, but she was simply overcome by the sheer number of examples of the Commander's illogical behaviour, and said nothing.

"Let's get back on point," said Archer. "There are hundreds of captives down there, who will soon end up in Orion slave markets if we do nothing."

"Sorry, Cap," said Trip.

Malcolm, looked speculatively at Ke'Relle, and said, "Ke'Relle's training would make her well suited for this mission, Captain."

"All right, Ke'Relle, thank you," said Archer. "T'Pol, you will lead this mission. Lieutenant Reed, you and Ke'Relle will plan the team's insertion, necessary gear and weapons, as well as any other details you feel would affect the success of this mission. When you have your plan, present it to T'Pol."

"Yes, sir," said Malcolm.

"T'Pol," said Archer, "I want you to contact the Vulcan High Command. I intend to rescue those people which the Orions have captured, but the Enterprise can't carry four hundred extra people on board. Our life support systems would fail. We need Vulcan transports. If that falls through, try to get a hold of some civilian passenger liners, livestock freighters, anything with an adequate life support system."

"Perhaps we should wait until we are reinforced by some Vulcan ships and marines, Captain," said T'Pol.

"We can't afford to wait, T'ol," said Archer. "The Orion ships could show up any time to take all those captives back to Syndicate space."

T'Pol nodded her agreement and everyone about their tasks.

* * *

Three hours later, just before dusk on the planet below, Shuttlepod One left the Enterprise and took a wide detour to the planet below in order to minimize the chances of detection by the Orions. Once in atmosphere, Travis flew the pod twenty feet or so off the deck and eventually landed the shuttle two miles or so from the Orions, deep in a gully. A few minutes was sufficient time to disembark the recon team, composed of T'Pol, Trip, Malcolm and Ke'Relle. A few moments after the team had disembarked the shuttle returned to the Enterprise.

From their landing spot, each of the four members of the team hiked to their preassigned positions around the Orion camp. T'Pol was positioned to the North of the camp, Malcolm to the West, Ke'Relle to the East and Trip to the South. Their combination binoculars/data recorder shared the visual data captured both with the other members of their team, and with the Enterprise, while their comm units were linked in a similar fashion.

"I don't see any heavy weapons, do you?" said Archer's voice into each of the team member's miniscule earpiece, after the Enterprise's computers combined the four data streams and displayed them on the main Bridge monitor for the captain.

"I see a crew served weapon, probably a full-auto phaser cannon," said Ke'Relle. "It's no threat to the Enterprise, but it could easily bring down a shuttle. I'm guessing if the captives ever pose a serious threat of a successful revolt, that cannon would be turned on them and it will make short work of them all."

"Where?" said T'Pol.

"Thirty feet above and to the right of the camp's main gate."

Everyone turned their attention to bear on the coordinates described by Ke'Relle.

"How can you tell?" said Archer. "Whatever that item is, it's completely concealed by that canvas drapery."

"Trust me, Captain," said Ke'Relle.

"Ok, Ke'Relle," said Archer. "I believe you. T'Pol will factor that cannon into her planning, I'm sure. Any other weapons? Anything else that might impact this mission?"

"I see phaser pistols and rifles, Captain. Some large animals," said Malcolm, zooming his binoculars to focus on some six legged, two hundred pound reptilian creatures, looking something like Komodo dragons. There were nine of these creatures.

"Damn, they're nasty looking things," said Trip. "Probably fills the role of a guard dog, to intimidate the captives."

"The buildings seem to be barracks for the Orions, kitchens and a medic's tent," said T'Pol. "Captives are restricted to the southern end of the camp. I see a fence surrounding the entire camp."

"It's an electric fence," said Trip, though said was not entirely accurate, for the entire team wore a gray colored patch on their throats which interpretted and transmitted to their comm units the vibrations of their larynx as they barely whispered their words, and then to the ear piece of each member of the team, thus allowing for communication without much noise.

"I agree," said Ke'Relle.

"How can you tell?" said Archer.

"I'm an engineer," said Trip.

More helpfully, Ke'Relle's feed zoomed in on the fence and panned across dozens of dead birds along the fence line, which had tried to perch on it.

"I have something like a large drainage pipe on my end, running under the fence," said Trip. "Might be way to bypass the fence and get us in the camp, or allow the captives a way out. I should check it out."

"I see a steel grate on the North side, blocking access to the pipe, visible from my vantage point," said T'Pol.

"I have one on my end of the pipe as well," said Trip.

"Well?" said T'Pol.

"I can deal with it," said Trip.

T'Pol was silent for the moment.

"I have a clear view of the pipe, SubCommander," said Ke'Relle to T'Pol. "I can warn Commander Tucker if anyone approaches, or cover him if he's discovered and needs to escape."

"Very well, Commander," said T'Pol. "Be careful."

A grunt from Trip as he presumably started moving for the pipe. T'Pol couldn't see him even with her light enhancing binoculars.

Twenty minutes later, T'Pol, said, "Commander Tucker. Report."

No answer.

"Ke'Relle, do you have eyes on Commander Tucker?"

"Negative, T'Pol. He's either quite stealthy, or he laid down to take a nap."

"I'm here," said Trip. "I heard something off to my left. Just wanted to make sure it wasn't one of those nasty reptiles sneaking up on me to hump my leg. It turned out to be some kind of small mammal or marsupial. I'll be at the pipe in a few minutes."

"Understood," said T'Pol.

Ten minutes later, Trip reported in.

"T'Pol," I've entered the pipe, and reached the far end of it."

"How did you bypass the grate on your end?" said T'Pol.

"I brought a small tool kit with me, T'Pol. One of the items in that kit is a small plasma torch. I shielded the light with my jacket and burned through the lock in about a minute. I can do the same on this end as well, if you'd like to put some of us into the camp, or if we can figure out a way to sneak the captives out this way."

"I see," said T'Pol, thinking. "That is well done, Commander."

"I believe I'm inside the camp at this end of the pipe, T'Pol, past the electric fence. I'd like to verify that fact."

"How, Commander?"

"I have an infrared flashlight. Your binoculars will pick up the light, but the eyes of the Orions will not," said Trip, for their mission briefing had made it clear the Orions could not see into the infrared spectrum.

"Go ahead," said T'Pol, then a second later, "I see your light, Commander."

"I'm inside the fence line, T'Pol?"

"Yes, Commander."

"That's good news," said Archer, who was monitoring the situation. "We could put in two security teams through that pipe and release the prisoners. It will be night soon."

Security on the Enterprise consisted of ten full time members under the banner of Tactical, and another twenty members of the Enterprise that had been cross-trained to handle the job if needed.

"Not good enough, Captain," said Ke'Relle. If those animals catch your scent and alert the Orions, or if the Orions themselves see something, it will go hard on your men, facing odds of almost three to one."

"2.73 to 1," said T'Pol.

"Thank you, SubCommander," said Ke'Relle, a trace of sarcasm in her voice.

"Suggestions, Ke'Relle?" said Archer.

"I've been watching the guards, Captain. They're lazy and sloppy, which means they're feeling secure in this location. Wait until right before dawn. Most of them will be asleep. Level every building in the camp below with a torpedo bombardment from the Enterprise. Any guards left alive after that attack will fall easily to your security teams, while the four of us give them covering fire from above."

T'Pol frowned. Ke'Relle's suggestion was ruthless. Logical, yes, but not typically Vulcan. Still, it gave credence to Ke'Relle's claim to military service.

"This is not a warship, Ke'Relle," said Malcom. "Our torpedoes will not survive the trip through the atmosphere, as it is not in our mission profile to bomb planets from orbit."

"What do you suggest, Lieutenant Reed?" said T'Pol.

"We could put thirty men with phaser rifles through that pipe as well as transport eighty phasers into the crowd of prisoners. That's one hundred and ten men to push the attack in addition to the four of us sniping from above. It would work, but the attack would have to be coordinated in order to function properly."

"I can make it into the crowd of captives," said Trip. "Look, the tall grass gives me cover almost all the way from the pipe to the slave's portion of the encampment. Once there, I can coordinate the attack. T'Pol?"

After a moment's deliberation, T'Pol said, "Go, Commander. Be careful."

That's the second time T'Pol has urged Trip to be careful, thought Malcolm. When did they become such good friends? T'Pol's voice brought an end to his speculation.

"Lieutenant Reed," said T'Pol, "make your way around the camp to the south side, close to the pipe. You will meet your security teams there and lead them in when the time comes."

"Aye, sir," said Malcolm, thinking, 'Where are my bloody words of concern, SubCommander?'

"I assume you want the security teams to make their way to the planet, SubCommander," said Archer.

"Yes, Captain."

"I"ll get that done as quickly as possible," said Archer.

"There's no hurry, Captain," said Ke'Relle. "Respectfully, SubCommander, you should strike the camp around 04:00."

"Agreed," said T'Pol.

Trip had listened to the chatter in his ear piece absent mindedly, as his hands worked of their own accord, to burn out the lock. He then squirted an entire small bottle of machine oil onto the two hinges of the welded steel door and then stripped off his weapons harness and uniform as he waited for the oil to do its work. Beneath his duty uniform he'd worn a pair of faded gray sweat pants and an old black sweater to ward off the night's chill and it seemed appropriate for tonight's mission. It would be hard to explain a StarFleet uniform if confronted by an armed Orion.

Click. Click. Beep.

The sounds in his ear piece told Trip someone on their network had initiated a private conversation with him.

"Yes?" he said.

"I have moved closer to the camp, Commander," said T'Pol, "so I can add my fire to Ke'Relle's if you have to make a run for the pipe."

"Understood, T'Pol," said Trip, "though I'd feel better if you were aboard the Enterprise."

"Why is that, Commander?"

"I'm afraid you'll take this chance to blow my brains out, when the fireworks begin, and blame it on the Orions."

"That is not as funny as you believe it to be, Commander."

"Duly noted. Anything else, T'Pol?"

"Ah.. No. Just be careful, Commander."

"Listen, I'm leaving my phaser rifle in the pipe. I can't take it with me, without being spotted. Someone else can use it, or bring it to camp for another to use. The phaser pistol is small enough to conceal on my person, so I'll keep it."

"Understood, Commander."

"I'm going in. Anything else?"

"No, Commander. I will see you when this is all over."

"If I'm snugly tucked in a body bag when next you see me, T'Pol, tell the captain to hang my body from the ceiling, in Cargo Bay 1," said Trip, laughing, "then you can take a stick and beat the crap out of me for all the aggravation I've caused you. You will find it therapeutic."

"Do not speak such foolishness, Commander. Go, but be careful."

"That's the third or fourth time you've told me to be careful. Either you're convinced I'm a fool, or you're worried about me."

"I do not think you're a fool, Commander," said T'Pol after a moment's silence, then ended their private communication to rejoin the open net.


	4. Chapter 4

**—Chapter 4—**

"Oh, crap," said Trip.

"Commander Tucker," said T'Pol, "report."

She thought that the Commander must be close to the the area in which the captives were held, though none of the team had reported seeing the man.

"That was a report, T'Pol," said Trip. "I smell feces all around me. This must be where the captives relieve themselves. I hope I haven't crawled through any of it yet, though with four hundred captives the odds weigh against me."

Ke'Relle's laughter was heard on the comm channel.

"Keep laughing, Baby," said Trip. "When I see you I'm going to wrap my sweater around your head until you pass out from the stench."

Ke'Relle's laughter was muffled now, like she was laughing up her sleeve, but it was still there.

"Wait 'till I get my hands on you, Ke'Relle. Anyway," said Trip, "I'm not crawling through a field full of crap. I'd rather get shot."

Trip unbuckled his pants, lowered them to his knees, then rose to a squat, as if he was a captive, relieving himself, for the benefit of any Orion which might be watching. As he was going commando, Trip gave everyone a free show of his glutes.

"Oh, yeah," said Ke'Relle. "Yeah, yeah, yeah…"

"Shut up, Ke'Relle," said T'Pol.

"Take it all in, ladies," said Trip. "You too Malcolm, Captain. You get glutes like this from heavy squats."

"Is that your prick or a roll of dimes I see dangling in the wind?" said Malcolm.

"Shut up, all of you," said T'Pol. "Back to business."

A moment later, Trip stood, pulled up his pants and started openly walking towards the mass of captives, while buckling his belt. One of the Orion guards approached Trip and snarled something at him and Trip responded to the Orion in English, only to be struck with the butt of the Orion's rifle and ordered back to the captives group.

"No one touch that bastard. He's mine," said Trip, before taking the comm patch from his throat an pocketing it, lest an Orion see the patch in the brighter light up ahead.

The entire team watched as Trip made his way into the midst of the Orion's captives, Archer doing so by proxy as the feed from the team was transmitted to the ship. Finally the Commander passed into a tree covered area and they lost visual track of him, though his position was still being clearly transmitted through his comm unit.

"We heard from the Vulcan High Command, T'Pol," said Archer.

"Oh?"

"They've redirected two of their battle-cruisers and a small troop carrier our way. When I say small troop carrier, it's rated to carry 1200 hundred troopers, so it's more than adequate."

"I am familiar with that class of ship, Captain," said T'Pol. "How long until they get here?"

"Seventy-three hours."

"What do we do with these people once we rescue them," said T'Pol, "if the Orions return before the Vulcan ships arrive?"

Archer had nothing at the moment, but Ke'Relle said, "We can use the Orion captives to lure the rest of them down to the planet. The weapons carried by the guards combined with our own numbers should be some two-hundred phasers. We'll cut them into minced meat."

"I would prefer to avoid needless confrontation if we could," said T'Pol, and Archer agreed in the background.

"You forget that these Orions are probably returning with more captives," said Ke'Relle. "We should rescue any such captives, then execute the Orions in order to send a message to the Syndicate."

Once again, T'Pol could find no fault with Ke'Relle's logic, yet her cold blooded advice on dealing with the Orions troubled her Vulcan sensibilities. Some movement on the field below caught T'Pol's eye, and after looking at the source of it through her rifle's scope, she said, "I see your security teams have arrived, Lieutenant Reed."

"Yes," said Malcolm, "and I'm not pleased that you can see them. The Orions might do the same."

"They're settling down now," said T'Pol. "Now we wait to hear from Commander Tucker."

* * *

Trip moved slowly through the crowd of captives, looking casually around, and the sight of it all was depressing. He recognized a few Klingons, two dozen Vulcans, some fifty humans, a hundred Risans more or less, and another half dozen species he could not identify, to fill out the numbers. The lot of them were dirty, disheveled and at first glace fearful, but here and there Trip saw hard eyes, heard some angry voices and sensed barely contained violence. Some of these people would fight the Orions, if given the chance.

Feeling someone's eyes on him, Trip turned his head to find a group of Andorians staring at him. This seemed as good a place to start as any. Crossing the space that separated them, Trip squatted in front of the Andorians and gave them a nod. They were a hard looking group, and under other circumstances an unwanted intruder would likely have been rudely treated, but in their current predicament, their misery created a certain sense of camaraderie, so they looked at him curiously. Trip discretely drew out his comm unit and activated the translation app, which had Vulcan, Risan and a bit of Klingon programmed into it.

"Do you speak Vulcan?" said Trip, only to hear his English words translated into Vulcan a moment later.

He was gambling here, for although Andorians and Vulcans were not on good terms, they were from the same sector of space, and it was possible that some Andorians spoke some Vulcan and vice versa. There was almost zero chance the Andorians understood English. The Andorians spoke quietly among themselves. They recognized the Vulcan tongue, but none could speak it. A tap on the touchscreen to translate English into Risan now.

"Do you speak Risan?"

"I speak a little Risan," said one of the Andorians.

"I'm Tucker, of the starship Enterprise. We're here to help you people."

The Andorian smiled, spoke to the rest of them, then looked back at Trip, and said, "How can we help?"

"We have some of our men outside the camp, ready to storm it on my mark. When we're ready to make our move, our ship will break cover in order to transport eighty phaser pistols to my location. We need to pass them out quickly, but discreetly to anyone willing to fight."

It took a few moments to rephrase and repeat some of the parts the Andorian had trouble understanding, then the Andorian spoke quickly to the rest.

"You get us those weapons, Tucker, and we will fight the Orions," said the Andorian, a nasty smile on his face. "Have no fear of that."

"Good. I need to find some others willing to do the same. You can help me, but be subtle, move casually, don't show any excitement. If the Orions sense something is off, that could hurt our chances."

"I understand, Tucker," said the Andorian. "What species are you?"

"Human," said Trip as he stood, stretched and moved casually towards some Vulcans who were watching him curiously, having no doubt heard his discussion with the Andorians, due to their sharp hearing.

* * *

Captain Archer had watched the blip representing Trip moving slowly but steadily through the crowd of Orion captives for hours. Knowing Trip, the man was making connections. Restlessly, he reached out to T'Pol.

"SubCommander," said Archer. "How's it going down there?"

"Thirty men ready and waiting to go in at my signal, Lieutenant Reed in the lead. They will be splitting up and taking out the guards. Ke'Relle staying where she is. She will be sniping at any of the Orions approaching the phaser cannon and those reptilian beasts which the Orions employ as guard dogs. She claims to be a good shot."

"Ok. I wonder how much longer 'till we hear from Trip."

"He is doing the best he can, I am sure," said T'Pol. "I've caught sight of him now and then, and followed his movements through his comm unit. The man missed his calling. He should have been a diplomat, instead of an engineer."

Archer snorted, and said, "Yeah, I'll suggest him for the Diplomatic Corps. Better yet, I'll have him posted on Vulcan."

"I am certain that the Commander would come to love that posting," said T'Pol earnestly, and it was only good manners that kept Archer from laughing in her face, for Trip was not fond of desert planets.

Click, click, beep, heard T'Pol. It was a private message from the Commander.

"Give me a moment, Captain," said T'Pol, then activated her link to Commander Tucker, and said, "Yes, Commander."

"Do you have a fix on my location, T'Pol?"

"Yes, Commander."

"Have the Enterprise assume orbit and transport the phasers to my location. I don't think breaking cover is too much of a risk. These guys have no discipline. The guards have been drinking for hours now. I doubt that anyone is monitoring sensors at this time, if such sensors even exist."

T'Pol agreed with the Commander's assessment of the Orions.

"Remember, Commander, to wait for my go ahead, before you act. We have to give the security team a chance to quietly remove as many of the guards as possible, before you make your charge, or else they will decimate you with fire from your flanks and rear."

"I understand, T'Pol."

"Your fellow combatants are ready?"

"Ye. A willing man for every phaser. As soon as you transport them in, we'll pass them out discretely, unless the alarm goes up, in which case we'll all rush for the box and charge the Orions, while the security team engages the guards. We have some cover, so it's not a suicide mission, but we'll still take some casualties. I assume the medics are standing by?"

"Yes, Commander," said T'Pol and contacted the Enterprise.

A minute later, a plastic box, five feet long, two feet wide, materialized in front of Trip. He was surrounded by male captives moving casually around him to conceal the transport of the weapons from the Orions. Trip checked a few of the weapons and found them fully charged. One by one, the phasers passed from hand to hand among the crowd, in order to end up in the hand of a man desperate enough to use it. Now it was just a matter of waiting.

"T'Pol."

"Yes, Commander."

"I spoke with Rostov earlier and gave him some special instructions. Has he made any headway with the project I assigned him?"

"I"ve been told by Captain Archer that he completed it," said T'Pol, "and the Enterprise will execute your vision on my mark."

"Good, good," said Trip. "You tell us when, T'Pol."

"Stand by, Commander."


	5. Chapter 5

**—Chapter 5—**

Farkhan Ord, Orion raider, slaver and sergeant of the night guard was not best loved by his men. Short, grossly obese and possessed of a vicious temper, he was also dedicated to duty in a way not typical among the Orions, thus on this night he was approaching one of the guard posts to conduct a surprise inspection. Unfortunately for him, he received the surprise in the form of forearm slammed into his throat at the same instant that a knife's blade was thrust into his side, repeatedly.

Malcolm lowered the Orion gently to the ground not from any concern for the pirate, but rather out of a concern to avoid the slightest noise. His men had already used electric stun pistols on the three guards stationed at this post. This fat Orion was an unexpected variable and Malcolm had no choice but to balance th equation through the application of cold steel. He whispered, and T'Pol heard his voice.

"SubCommander, guard post one is cleared."

"Understood, Lieutenant Reed. The teams assigned to clear guard posts two and three have also reported in. No problems."

"These guys must be the flunkie squad. Not one of them was worth their salt."

"That's it then," said T'Pol, over the network. "Everyone ready?"

Everyone chimed in, beginning with Captain Archer and ending with Trip.

"Then let us begin," said T'Pol.

* * *

Malcolm led the security teams through the Field of Feces and into the mass of prisoners to join Commander Tucker. The prisoners and security teams then, led by Trip and Malcolm, charged silently for the Orions just as Shuttlepod 2 flew over the camp, dropping two hundred homemade flash bangs over the buildings which housed the Orions and the dozen or so Orions still awake. Ke'Relle began shooting the Orion's reptiles one by one as soon as the flash bangs went off, then when the few Orions still in shape to fight back started firing into the mass of prisoners and crewmen charging them, Ke'Relle turned her long rifle on them. Moments later, the still stunned Orions were overrun, and most of them killed before Malcolm could impose order and take prisoners. It had all gone well, over and done with in a matter of minutes. A roar went up from all of the prisoners, when they realized they now stood free.

"Everyone, report in," said T'Pol, "beginning with Commander Tucker."

"I got winged, T'Pol," said Trip, "but I'll live."

"I've got three wounded from my teams," said Malcolm "A dozen or so wounded from among the captives, as well as five dead. I suggest that Shuttlepod 2 begin ferrying the badly wounded to Enterprise. Medics can tend the lighter wounds here on the planet."

"The shuttle is on its way, Lieutenant," said Archer.

* * *

Four hours later, Trip got his turn with Dr. Phlox.

"Ah, Commander," said Phlox with a smile, "I apologize for the wait. We had to prioritize everyone by the severity of their injuries."

"I understand, Doctor," said Trip as Phlox looked him over. "Anyway, it gave me a chance to shower and clean up a bit, which was just as well, considering what I had to crawl through in that camp."

"Good. Good. You're my first injury case among the senior officers since I signed on with the Enterprise, Commander Tucker."

"Well, don't get used to it, Doc. This will be my first, and last time in SickBay."

T'Pol walked into Sick Bay, looked at Trip, then Phlox, and raised a brow at the Denobulan.

"That's the spirit, Commander," said Phlox as he treated Trip's wound. "Nothing to worry about here. It's a minor wound."

"Yeah," said Trip. "The energy bolt barely grazed me and most of its energy was wasted."

"That's lucky for you, Commander," said Phlox as he administered a painkiller to his patient, then bandaged the man up, "but it must still hurt."

Trip moaned as the injection kicked in, and said, "Thanks, Doc."

"No problem, Commander. Come see me tomorrow if you require another injection. I'd allow to stay in Sick Bay, but I'm already running out of room."

"I'll sleep better in my own bed anyway, Doctor," said Trip as he slid off the bed he'd been sitting on when Phlox was tending to him.

"SubCommander, may I—" said Phlox.

"I will see that Commander Tucker gets to his quarters," said T'Pol, anticipating the Doctor's request.

"Thank you, SubCommander," said Phlox. "Let me get you a wheelchair."

"I don't need a wheelchair," said Trip.

"We'll be fine, Doctor," said T'Pol. "Worst case scenario I can toss him over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes."

"As you wish, SubCommander," said Phlox.

"Oh, I'm feeling good," said Trip, and the he started laughing.

"What's wrong with him?" said T'Pol to Phlox.

"Nothing, SubCommander. I gave him some good stuff to dull the pain. Go on now."

T'Pol looked at Trip and said, "Commander Tucker? Let's go to your quarters. You need to sleep."

Trip looked at T'Pol and a moment later her words made sense.

"Ok, T'Pol."

As they walked through the hallway towards the elevator, Trip started laughing again. He stumbled, only to be rescued by T'Pol, who then placed one of the Commander's arms over her shoulders and steadied him with her other hand around his waist.

"Come along, Commander," said T'Pol.

"Mmmm," said Trip. "Why do I smell vanilla and oranges?"

"It is just the scent of my soap, Commander. It incorporates Earth vanilla beans and the oils of a low-moisture Vulcan citrus, thus the scent."

"Oh,"said Trip, "that reminds me, Chef made some lemon bars tonight. We need to stop by the Mess Hall, to pick up some lemon bars. We can eat them in my quarters."

"No lemon bars. It is late and you need your sleep."

"I want lemon bars, T'Pol. Now. That's an order!"

"I am your superior officer, Commander Tucker. You seem to have trouble remembering that fact."

"Oh. I still want three or four lemon bars."

Crewmen Eivers and Stev were passing by just in time to catch this exchange and they were grinning like Cheshire cats, assuming Trip was drunk.

"Evening, SubCommander," said Eivers. "Need a hand?"

"I have it under control, crewman."

"Yes, sir."

An elevator ride and a few minutes later, T'Pol stood in front of the Commander's door. As a senior officer she could open any door on the Enterprise and she did so to enter the Commander's quarters. T'Pol laid the man on the bed, but he wouldn't let go of her and dragged her down to the mattress atop him, only to start laughing again. She worked her way free as Trip wormed his way under his blanket and a moment later she raised the blanket to take off the Commander's slippers.

"Thank you, T'Pol," said Trip, looking up at the Vulcan.

"You are welcome, Commander."

"Sing me, Soft Kitty," said Trip.

"What?"

"Nothing," he said, looking up at T'Pol. "If you'd gotten me those lemon bars, we could sit on my bed to share them, and I could lose myself in your eyes all night long."

"That would be a most illogical use of your time, Commander."

"I suppose," said Trip, with a sigh. "You know, we're getting along better and better each day since our little bug-tussle on the Bridge. I'm glad you decided to stay aboard. To translate my meaning into Vulcan, I find your presence on this ship agreeable, T'Pol."

"And I find you most agreeable tonight, Commander. Perhaps I will get the Doctor to prescribe you a daily dose of that pain killer."

Trip mumbled something and closed his eyes. Within a minute he was fast asleep. T'Pol sighed, and looked around. She'd never seen the Commander's quarters before and was curious, despite herself. A tall bookshelf with some books on warp mechanics, Turkish cooking, Vietnamese cooking, a few motorcycle magazines, on one shelf, some wonderfully detailed machines and machine parts cast in bronze on another. Some silly sculptures standing on small podiums. One was a chubby dinosaur named Godzilla, another seemed to be a walking corpse named Frankenstein, and so on.

Some drawings on his desk, the style instantly recognizable. Two days earlier one of the Enterprise's crewmen running an errand to the Bridge for Archer, gave T'Pol an envelope from Commander Tucker. On studying the contents of the envelope T'Pol found a very well done drawing of herself, licking her lips, knife and fork in her hands as she looked down upon a small pig who was resting on her plate. The pig was smiling and giving her a wink, which seemed most improbable to T'Pol. Beneath the drawing, the Commander had written, "Lunch, today? Call Engineering before you leave for the Mess Hall."

She didn't know why he even bothered with a note. They ate lunch together almost daily unless work intruded, then dinner together with the Captain, then quite often a late-night meet in the Mess Hall for the Commander's customary nighttime snack, when she just happened to decide she needed a cup of tea in that same time period, which was usually every night.

A t-shirt on the floor, which T'Pol picked up. She buried her face in it, to discern if it was clean, or not. She could not decide, though she held it to her face longer than strictly necessary. The chime of the door bell called for her attention, and T'Pol went to answer it.

"Greetings, T'Pol," said Ke'Relle. "I just came aboard and wanted to see how Trip is doing."

T'Pol bristled inwardly at her fellow Vulcan's presence here, as well as the familiar way she used Commander Tucker's nickname, but she hid it well.

"He is fine, Ke'Relle. The Commander fell asleep a few moments ago. I was just leaving."

"Good. Perhaps I'll stop by here later, see if he's up."

"The doctor gave him a strong sedative. Do not come back here and wake him tonight. He needs his rest."

"Doctor's orders, T'Pol?" said Ke'Relle, with a smile which implied that T'Pol had ulterior motives to keep Ke'Relle and Commander Tucker apart.

"Precisely."


	6. Chapter 6

**—Chapter 6—**

Malcolm had been up all night on the planet, along with his security teams. They'd broken into the supplies the Orions had kept for themselves and passed out food and water to their former prisoners. Fortunately, there was plenty of food to last them all, until the Vulcans arrived to this planet to take them all away. Leaving the Orion camp to hike to a more defensible position two miles away, the prisoners and crewmen left behind the stench of dead Orions and their beasts, while the dozen or so still living Orions were aboard the Enterprise, being interrogated. Now they just had to wait another two and a half days for the Vulcans to reach them with their transport.

* * *

T'Pol was ready to leave for the Bridge the next morning, when her door chime sounded. She knew it would be Commander Tucker for he had recently picked up the habit of stopping by her door to collect her on the way to the Bridge. Her quarters were on the way, so T'Pol did not object to the Commander's idiosyncrasy. His actions were completely logical, for it allowed them to get the small talk which humans relished out of the way before going on duty.

"Good morning, Commander," said T'Pol as she accepted the tall carry-out cup of hot tea he handed her.

She could tell by the smell that it was the brand called Morning Thunder, which featured a wild bovine charging across the prairie. She thought it was supposed to charge her up in a similar fashion, but Vulcans were not affected by caffeine. Still, she enjoyed the brew.

"Morning, T'Pol."

"Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah, real good. That stuff Phlox gave me was like a bottle of bourbon. I don't even remember making my way to my quarters."

"I helped you to your quarters, Commander."

Trip stopped and smiled.

"Oranges," said Trip. "My pillow smelled faintly of citrus this morning and I thought I was crazy since I haven't seen an orange in months, but now I'm catching a slight scent of it from you."

"I had to carry you to your quarters, Commander, and you crawled directly into bed."

"Yeah, but why does my pillow carry your scent, T'Pol?" said Trip with the beginnings of a smile. "I trust there's a logical explanation."

"You dragged me into bed with you, Commander. My head must have touched—"

"Oh, ho," said Trip, interrupting T'Pol, "now I really wish I could remember what happened last night, my fine Vulcan SubCommander. So I dragged you into my bed. What next? Did you giggle as you felt my hungry lips on your elegant, pointy ears?"

T'Pol sighed and gave the Commander a jaded look.

"You know," said Trip with a smile, "if you happened to take some liberties with me last night, SubCommander, I absolve you of any guilt. And if my innocence—"

"No liberties were taken, Commander Tucker, I assure you," said T'Pol. "As for you and innocence being linked together, that is an oxymoron, if ship's gossip is at all accurate. Oxymoron means—"

"I know what the word means, T'Pol.'

Thankfully, as T'Pol saw things, they'd reached the Bridge so that this conversation could die a merciful death.

Captain Archer was in the Situation Room, situated at the back of the Bridge, Ke'Relle next to him, so Trip and T'Pol joined them as well.

"How you feeling, Trip?" said Archer.

"I'm all right, Captain. Where do things stand this morning?"

"No sign of the Orions. Vulcans are sixty-one hours away. Malcolm has things in order down below."

"What do we do if the Orions return before the Vulcan ships get here? said T'Pol.

"We have no choice but to attack them, disable their ships. If it was just a matter of loot I'd let them go without engaging them, but I imagine they've got more captives aboard, which need rescue."

T'Pol nodded her agreement with the Captain's sentiments.

"You need some sleep, Captain," said T'Pol.

Though technically the night shift was commanded by Lieutenant Ortiz, Archer had spent the night in his ready room, reading, in case the Orions popped up.

"You're right," said Archer. "I'm gonna hit the sack. You have the conn, SubCommander."

Ke'Relle gave Archer a slight wave as he left the Bridge.

"I'm off for Engineering, T'Pol. Call if you need anything," said Trip, before giving Ke'Relle a come along gesture with his head.

Ensign Hoshi Sato watched Commander Tucker exit the Bridge with Ke'Relle in tow, and she alone noticed the slight frown on the SubCommander's face as she watched them leave. As a talented linguist, her stock and trade was communication, and communication was not limited to the spoken word and so the good Ensign was adept enough at reading body language as well.

The Ensign had noticed the SubCommander's reactions, subtle as they were, on several occasions when the Commander and the Ke'Relle were together, and Hoshi had found those reactions interesting. In human females, T'Pol's reactions might indicate jealousy, but Hoshi was not ready to make that determination where a Vulcan was concerned. Could be she just didn't like Ke'Relle. Yeah, yeah, Vulcan's weren't supposed to have emotions, but Hoshi knew better. This situation would bear watching though, thought the Ensign.

Why? Why not, she thought.

* * *

Later that day, Captain Archer was awakened an hour before dinner time by Porthos nibbling on his toes. The dog did that when he got restless, and the Beagle was restless now, for his master had not kept their regular schedule. Porthos was generally confined to quarters while the captain was on duty, save for lunch time, when the captain took him for a thirty minute jog throughout the ship, and in the evenings, when he accompanied his master throughout the ship. If Archer had to work past his normal shifts, he released Porthos into the wild of the ship to go on a walkabout of the Enterprise on his own, reasoning that it would be cruel to confine a social animal like a dog for the majority of the day.

Porthos loved those walkabouts, because as the only dog on the Enterprise, he was a rockstar. All the other bipeds rubbed him, scratched his ears, threw items for him to fetch, fed him a variety of tasty treats when he made his rounds to the Mess Hall, and he always made his way to the Mess Hall sooner or later. Best of all, some of the female bipeds kissed him on the mouth repeatedly while baby talking to him. Porthos went out of his way for those sweet kisses. This day though, Archer had forgotten to release him into the wild, and Porthos had exhausted his patience, thus the toe nibbling.

"All right, all right, Porthos, I'm up."

The Beagle chuffed at Archer, impatient to stretch his legs. Looking at the clock, Archer started getting dressed, after taking a moment to press the comm button.

"Archer to Engineering."

"Trip here, Captain."

"Hey, you and Ke'Relle want to meet me in the lounge for a pre-dinner drink?"

The Enterprise had a small lounge that allowed off-duty crewmen two drinks a day. Other than that alchohol was not served, nor were crew members allowed to have their own private stash.

"Sure, Captain, sounds good. When?"

"I'll be there in ten minutes."

"See you then."

Archer found his shoes, pressed the comm button again.

"Archer to Bridge."

"Yes, Captain," said T'Pol.

"Come to the lounge after your shift. We'll all have a drink before dinner."

Vulcans generally didn't drink alchoholic beverages, but Trip had gotten T'Pol to try small amounts of various liquors in the interests of expanding her palate, and she had actually gotten to like some of those drinks, namely sake, pear cider, brandy and sipping quality rum, so far.

"Very well, Captain. I take it Commander Tucker and Ke'Relle will join us?"

"Yeah, they will. Problem?"

"No," said T'Pol. "I will be there in twenty minutes."

* * *

Good as her word, T'Pol walked into the lounge precisely on time, to see Commander Tucker, Ke'Relle, Hoshi and Captain Archer gathered around Porthos, who was seated upon a chair.

"Hey, great timing, T'Pol," said Trip. "Come here, I want to show you something. In honor of you and Ke'Relle, I'm teaching Porthos some Vulcan customs."

"Really," said T'Pol, and joined the onlookers gathered around the captain's canine companion. "Well?"

Commander Tucker knelt in front of Porthos and extended the index and middle fingers of his right hand, while folding the two smaller fingers inward and covering them with his thumb.

"It took me three pounds of Chef's Italian meatballs to train Porthos to do this bit."

"Trip, you son of a bitch, I thought he was getting kind of plump these last few days," said Archer.

"Here we go," said Trip, snapping his fingers to get the Beagle's attention. "Porthos, ozh."

The Beagle raised his right paw and held it out towards Commander Tucker, while lowering his head, and the Commander reached out with his right hand, touching his two fingers to the Beagle's outstretched paw, while lowering his own head.

"Ashayam," said Trip, his voice rich with emotion, "I hunger, but only for your touch!"

Hoshi broke out in laughter, and Ke'Relle gave a snort and a chuckle. Archer just looked confused.

"What am I seeing here?" said Archer.

"Passion, Captain," said Ke'Relle. "You are seeing two kindred spirits, which have joined into one."

T'Pol was displeased. She glanced dismissively at both Ke'Relle and Commander Tucker, before speaking to the Captain.

"Commander Tucker just performed the ozh'esta, a Vulcan gesture of affection between married couples, with your Beagle, while naming Porthos his 'Beloved'.

Archer began laughing as well though T'Pol turned a stony gaze upon him, then said, "Trip, you bastard. Porthos is my cabin boy, not yours!"


	7. Chapter 7

**—Chapter 7—**

The next evening, Archer looked out a port window in his ready room, to take in the sight of the newly arrived Vulcan ships. The two Vulcan battle-cruisers were impressive as hell, and if the troop carrier was less so, it was more useful, for it would take the newly released captives back home, at least partially.

Fourteen shuttles, six from each of the Vulcan cruisers, two from the Enterprise, were ferrying these people from the planet's surface to the troop carrier in orbit. No sign of the Orion ships yet, though there was no doubt they'd return, their ships loaded with loot and captives for the slave market's of Syndicate space. The two battle-cruisers would remain in place until the Orions returned and Archer knew the Vulcans would have no trouble capturing the Orions ships for the Orions were a pragmatic people, not given to resistance to the bitter end. The Enterprise would escort the Vulcan troop transport ship to Risa to drop off some of the captives, and then Vulcan with the rest.

The comm unit beeped, and T'Pol's voice said, "Captain."

"Yes, T'Pol."

"Captains Vrill, Te'Mek and Usan just came on board. They'll be escorted to your dining room shortly."

Archers sighed, and said, "Ok, T'Pol. Turn the conn over to Lieutenant Reed and meet me there. You're not dumping them on my lap while you relax on the Bridge. I've had about enough Vulcan condescension."

"Yes, Captain," said T'Pol, "but you and the crew of the Enterprise have done well here. I assure you, the Vulcan captains will show you no disrespect."

"Right. Ok. See you soon."

* * *

Chef had served a Caesar salad as the first course of the meal, the usual anchovy paste in the dressing replaced by some fermented Porcini mushroom paste for the sake of the vegetarian Vulcans.

As the empty salad plates were being removed, Archer took a speculative look around the table and had to concede that T'Pol had been right. The Vulcan captains had been pleasant enough, as far as he was concerned. They'd asked about the events that had brought the Orions to the notice of the Enterprise, had inquired about the actual takeover of the Orion camp, and looked suitably impressed after Captain Archer had given them a concise overview of the operation.

The stewards laid plates in front of each guest, the next course in the meal. A samosa on each plate, filled with spicy potatoes and chickpeas, three arancini balls, small rice balls, stuffed with chopped grilled mushrooms and eggplant, coated with breadcrumbs and fried in olive oil and a bowl of a clear vegetable soup.

"That was well played, Captain," said Vrill, the senior Vulcan captain, after taking a appreciative sniff of the soup and samosas in front of him.

"Most of the credit goes to my people," said Archer. "Lieutenant Reed and Ke'Relle planned the operation, SubCommander T'Pol ran it flawlessly and Commander Tucker did much of the critical groundwork on the inside of the camp."

Te'Mek eyed Trip speculatively as he took a tentative bite of his samosa. He nodded approvingly and took another bite before speaking to Trip.

"I was given to understand that you were the ship's Chief Engineer, Commander Tucker. How did you find yourself in very midst of such a mission?"

Trip smiled and said, "We're generalists aboard the Enterprise, Captain, so we improvised. I suspect we'll have to do so quite often, until we get our space legs."

"You have done quite well so far," said captain Usan.

"That's kind of you to say, Captain," said Archer, looking at captain Usan. "I did not expect to hear that, given some of the Vulcan opinions I've heard so far on the topic of humans venturing into space."

"Our opinions on any topic are varied, perhaps not as much as amongst you humans, for we are generally committed to approaching life's challenges primarily through logic, but I assure you, we do not march in lockstep with one another, where your species is concerned."

Captain Archer was about to reply, but just then T'Pol entered the Captain's Mess and after a nod to the Vulcan captains, took the empty seat at Commander Tucker's right hand.

"Try the arancini while they're hot, T'Pol," said Ke'Relle, leaning a bit forward to make eye contact with T'Pol, from her seat at Commander Tucker's left hand. "I know you'll love them. We have similar taste..."

T'Pol gave Ke'Relle a deadpan look, and said, "I will do so, Ke'Relle."

Ke'Relle winked at T'Pol and gave a slight laugh, but it might as well have been a bellow as far as the Vulcan captains were concerned. Trip thought they seemed unsure in how to deal with Ke'Relle, though Vrill seemed to find her fascinating.

Oh, hell, thought Trip, I'm probably wrong. It's not like I can read Vulcans. Well, except T'Pol. Her I can read.

Captain Te'Mek took a speculative look at T'Pol and then at Captain Archer.

"How has T'Pol been working out for you aboard the Enterprise, Captain?"

"We got off to a rocky start," said Archer, "but we're working together quite well now. She's an excellent officer."

"That is interesting," said Vrill, looking at T'Pol. "I believe you hold the record for the length of time served aboard a human ship, SubCommander."

"Perhaps the High Command could give her a plaque for her quarters and a medal as large as a dinner plate, which she could wear as part of her uniform," said Trip with a laugh. "We could hold a ceremony, then have T'Pol march through the ship's halls as we throw candies at her."

Captain Archer laughed at that and both Te'Mek and Vrill looked at Trip and seemed amused. Usan just seemed confused by the idea. He was the most logical of them all, and human humor often escaped him.

T'Pol turned to look at Trip and though her glance was reserved, her eyes seemed… well, warm. She knew Trip was amusing himself at her expense, but didn't mind it at all.

"That is not necessary, Commander," said T'Pol. "I am a Vulcan. I live to serve."

Looking back at T'Pol's face, Trip was captivated. He'd been so since the first time he'd seen her and most nights T'Pol's face was the last thing he saw before he fell asleep, well, mostly because she was always on his mind. His eyes narrowed fractionally and her's widened, and just for an instant he had the crazy impulse to reach out and caress her cheek. It was probably for the best that T'Pol had no interest in him, else he'd fall hopelessly in love with her and that would be very bad, given that this was a temporary assignment for her.

Oh, Christ!, thought Trip. How long have I been staring at T'Pol?

"Your service honors us, T'Pol," said Trip.

It was something he'd heard one Vulcan say to another at one of StarFleet's rubber chicken dinners in return to the 'I live to serve' line, and it seemed appropriate here as well, for the Vulcan captains nodded and Te'Mek murmured something in Vulcan. Captain Archer looked at him for a bit longer, and Trip started to sweat, figuratively speaking, but then Archer turned his attention to a speaking Vrill, and the moment passed.

Thank God, thought Trip. No one noticed, well except Jon. I can play it off though, even with him. I'm in the clear.

T'Pol had gone through much the same thought process and come to the same conclusion: I am in the clear. Knowing that, why was her heart was still racing?

* * *

"I trust that it is clear to us all that T'Pol is quite infatuated with Commander Tucker, no?" said Te'Mek to Vrill and Usan as the Vulcan shuttle left the Enterprise's flight deck.

"Do you think they're Bonded?" said Vrill.

"That is not our concern. It is a private matter," said Usan. "But no, they are not Bonded. Yet."

"How do you know?" said Te'Mek.

"My psi rating is quite high," said Usan. "I would have sensed the existance of a Bond between them."

Vrill, who had consulted his data pad since his initial thought, said, "Usan is correct. The Enterprise has not yet visited Vulcan and I do not see how they would have had access to a Vulcan priest, to initiate a Bond. That's if a priest would even agree to initiate such an unconventional Bond."

"Still," said Te'Mek. "The attraction is there. It is strong and it goes both ways. The Commander is just as enchanted with our young SubCommander, as she to him."

"Should we notify the High Command?" said Vrill.

"That would not be right, for it might affect her career," said Te'Mek. "At the very least she would get pulled from the Enterprise."

"It is not our place to meddle," said Usan. "It is a private matter."

Vrill and Te'Mek looked at each other, then Usan, and both said, "Agreed."

* * *

The next day, T'Pol had the conn, while captain Archer was consulting with StarFleet in his Ready Room, when Ensign Sato said, "SubCommander, we are being hailed by the Tulwar. They're ready to send a shuttle over for Ke'Relle."

The Tulwar was a Vulcan diplomatic shuttle headed for Earth and captain Vrill had pulled some strings to get Ke'Relle a seat on the shuttle.

"Acknowledge the transmission and instruct the Tulwar to proceed to the Access Hatch."

"Yes, SubCommander," said Hoshi.

T'Pol pressed an alpha-numerical sequence into the number-pad built into the arm of the captain's chair. That particular sequence had been assigned to the comm unit given to Ke'Relle for the duration of her stay on the Enterprise.

"Ke'Relle here."

"This is T'Pol. Your shuttle will be here shortly. Proceed to the Access Hatch."

"Acknowledged. Thank you, T'Pol. It's been a pleasure."

"Safe journey, Ke'Relle."

"Thank you, T'Pol. It's a shame I didn't get to spend more time on the Enterprise."

"Indeed," said T'Pol. "I shall grieve your departure, Ke'Relle."

Ke'Relle laughed at that, knowing that T'Pol was secretly overjoyed to be rid of her, and logged off.

T'Pol moved to the Science Station and extended the scope. Looking into it, she entered Ke'Relles comm unit code once again. The Enterprise was equipped with an adequate audio/visual sensor net, in case of emergencies, so T'Pol had no difficulty locating Ke'Relle's signature in one of the transport tubes. Not surprisingly, Commander Tucker's signature was next to Ke'Relle's. Pulling out an earbud from the scope's base, T'Pol inserted it into her ear. She noticed Ensign Sato's surprise. T'Pol had never used the earbud before, but she was embarrased enough about what she was doing, no need to broadcast things by enabling the audio speaker, and so, she ignored Ensign Sato's glance, but the Ensign smiled, as if she knew exactly what T'Pol was about. That was troubling. Still, she took the next step.

"—was great having you here, Ke'Relle."

The cameras picked up their image as the microphones picked up the Commander's words.

"I enjoyed it as well, Trip."

"Shame you couldn't stay on a bit longer, Ke'Relle. We're due to return to Earth in a month or so, and Captain Archer would have accomodated you gladly, for the help you gave us."

"Unfortunately time is of the essence, Trip. I'm on an important mission for my people."

"Really?" said Trip, his curiousity piqued. "What could the Vulcans want of you, that they can't have their diplomatic flunkies handle?"

What indeed, thought T'Pol, unsure of what to make of Ke'Relle's statement. No true undercover operative would reveal her mission, or even the existance of a mission, to another.

"Vulcans? Who said I'm a Vulcan, Trip?"

T'Pol had scanned for lifesigns during the rescue of the Vulcan freighter and knew very well that Ke'Relle was a Vulcan. She was mystified at Ke'Relle's conduct.

Trip smiled at Ke'Relle, uncertainly, and said, "Right… You're actually a Klingon."

"Perhaps," she said with a smile, then hit the stop button, which brought the tube to a sudden halt. "As much as I'd like to stay, my people sent me here. One of our psychics, and they're few in number, predicted that one day soon a black wind would bring great harm to my people. That wind would come from Earth."

"A black wind? Travelling through space."

"It is obviously a metaphor, Trip. But he has proven his accuracy many times before, so I have been sent to gather information on humans, and Earth."

Now Trip knew Ke'Relle was pulling his leg.

"Ok, now that makes sense. You're right. You have to go."

"I do. But don't tell anyone, Trip, or I will have to kill you."

Trip laughed, and said, "Right. I agree."

Ke'Relle surprised T'Pol by moving into Commander Tucker's space and kissing him deeply. T'Pol was displeased, though logically, she should not have been surprised, given how much time the two had spent together. There is nothing between the Commander and myself, thought T'Pol, so there is no reason to concern myself over a kiss—yet this logical fact did not dispell her displeasure.

Ke'Relle started the tube on its way once more, and said something in Vulcan as she looked casually around the tube.

"What was that?" said Trip.

"Nothing, Trip. A silly superstition."

T'Pol removed the earbud and stepped back from her station. She should have been troubled that Ke'Relle had so easily intuited that she would be spying on them both, yet Ke'Relles words still echoed through her mind.

"I hope you enjoyed that kiss, T'Pol. If I was not otherwise occupied I would take the Commander from you, now. I promise, I will do so the next time we meet."


	8. Chapter 8

**—CHAPTER 8—**

Ten days after the Enterprise's rescue of the four hundred or so Orion captives destined for the Syndicate's slave markets, the ship was heading for Tellar. StarFleet hoped to enter serious negotiations with the Tellarites one day, but for now they were striving to build good will with that species, through more frequent contact and so the Enterprise's Chef was calling on Tellarite markets to refill they food stocks, while Trip would purchase some industrial metals and Doctor Phlox would consult with some of their physicians for some of the exotic creatures he used in his treatments of his patients.

"Captain," said Ensign Sato, from the Comm Station. "StarFleet is hailing us. They wish to speak you and SubCommander T'Pol, sir."

The Vulcan looked at captain Archer from her station and raised a brow. The captain shrugged his shoulders.

"I have no idea. SubCommander, let's go. Hoshi, route the transmission to my Ready Room, please."

"Yes, sir."

Moments later, they were seated and the wall monitor flickered to life. Admiral Ryan shared the view screen with Ambassador Soval. Captain Archer glanced at T'Pol and the look they exchanged said it all. Trouble.

"Admiral," said Archer. "Ambassador."

"Captain," said Ryan. "SubCommander T'Pol."

Jon and Ryan were friends, but Soval's presence put a bit of a damper on the social aspect of things, so Ryan got to the point.

"I know you must be having fun traipsing around the galaxy, rescuing damsels in distress," said Ryan with a smile, "but work must intrude occasionally."

"Always ready to do an honest day's work to justify the expense of having us out here, sir," said Archer. "How may we be of service?"

"Ambassador," said Ryan, looking at the Vulcan sitting next to him.

"First, let me congratulate you," said Soval, "and the crew of the Enterprise on the job you did rescuing those captives from the clutches of the Orions."

The captain nodded, and Soval continued.

"As you are probably aware, our battle-cruisers captured three of five Syndicate ships, when they returned to the planet on which their camp was located. We've sifted through all of the data collected on the site and from the captured ships, interrogated and then mind-melded with some of the Orions to find out if there were other captives outside of Syndicate space that we could find and rescue."

Jon nodded, suddenly interested. It had been good to help those people, good to do something worthwhile. It seemed they would do so again.

"I thought the High Command did not approve of mind melds, Ambassador," said Archer.

Soval nodded, and said, "That is so, Captain, but we make exceptions in some cases. This was such a case."

"So you've found some more camps," said Archer, "and you'd like us to take part in the operation?"

"Not precisely, Captain," said Soval.

He spoke to Archer a touch more respectfully than he had in the recent past. What the Enterprise had done was honorable, and though Soval still thought they were too green to be adventuring among the stars, logic dictated that he might have to revise his opinion, especially if the Enterprise proved helpful once again.

"We've come across an unpleasant bit of information," said Soval. "As you know, the Orion Syndicate traffics in many things. Drugs, prostitution, slaves, weapons, stolen technology, hired killers, you name it, if there's profit, they're involved."

Excited, Archer nodded and glanced at T'Pol, but she merely looked composed and attentive.

"For some reason," said Soval, "there is a demand for Vulcan captives among the Orions, which are later sold as slaves in the Syndicate's markets. None of the Orions we pressed knows the reason why, they only know that desirable Vulcans bring two to five times the going rate."

"Define desirable, Soval," said T'Pol. "What traits is the market looking for in these Vulcan captives?"

"The Orions have detected no pattern in the purchases, and they would have reason to pay attention to that fact," said Soval. "If they could narrow it down to certain traits, they could preselect their Vulcan captives for maximum profit, but as I said, they've noticed no patterns in the purchases."

"Ok," said Jon. "Who are the buyers?"

"The Orions call them the Happa, but that just means 'wraiths' in the Orion tongue. No one knows who they are, where they come from, or where they go."

"What do they look like?" said Jon.

"No one knows. They wear close fitting environmental suits, but some Orions think they're just worn to disguise their features. Their bodies follow the standard humanoid template – one head, two arms, two legs. One of our Orion captives saw a Happa savagely beat a Klingon before breaking his neck, when said Klingon drew a knife on the Happa, so they're dangerous."

"The Orion could have been spinning a good yarn for you, in hopes—"

"Every bit of information concerning the Happa," said Soval, "was verified through mind-melds."

Captain Archer, nodded, said "I see."

"Is there any information on the Happa from other species?" said T'Pol.

"That's just it," said Soval. "Our people believe the Happa might just be acting as secretive middle men. No one's ever heard of them before, and the ships they pilot are a hodge podge of Orion, Tellarite and Risan ships. There is nothing unique about them, other than the fact that they come to Syndicate auctions, buy and then dissapear until the next auction, so we think they just take their suits off, and blend in with their respective species, in their free time, as it were."

"That could well be true," said Admiral Ryan. "And that is where the Enterprise comes into the picture. The Vulcan High Command, has asked for our help in this matter, Captain. SubCommander T'Pol will endeavour to unmask these Happa and their motives where Vulcans are concerned. You are to give her any support she requires."

T'Pol was about to speak, but Jon spoke first, looking at Soval.

"You must be joking, Ambassador. Even I know normal Vulcans want no part of the Syndicate nasty business dealings. T'Pol will be presumed to be a spy and killed or enslaved quickly, no matter how good her cover story. You can't send her in there."

"You're half right, Captain," said Soval. "You said any normal Vulcans, and you'd be right on that score. But there are a number of Vulcan slaves in Syndicate space, controlled through a neural whip."

Ok, Jon was surprised.

"What is that, Ambassador?"

"T'Pol," said Soval, looking at the SubComander.

"The neural whip," said T'Pol, "is a compliance device used by the Orion slavers and attached anywhere close to the base of the skull. The cheapest and simplest kind simply causes an extremely painful shock that incapacitates the captive, when the handheld base unit is activated. This type is used on all new captures, and retained for the lower tier of captives.

"Those with specialized skills, training or education are usually fitted with the second type of whip which is called a training whip, which creates or transfers a tactile sensation from the base unit to the neural whip."

"It can grant pleasure, as well as pain, you see," said Soval, "the better to train the recalcitrant slaves strong enough to resist pain."

"And," said Archer, "you think to move T'Pol through Syndicate space in search of her game disguised as a slave."

"Yes," said Soval.

Archer knew better than to argue with Soval or T'Pol over this mission. If he told Soval that T'Pol was too important to risk on such a hare brained scheme, Soval would say that his point was irrelevant. If he told T'Pol that the Vulcans should get someone else, she would reply it was her duty. Fight them hard enough on this, and the High Command would remove T'Pol from his command, and send her into Syndicate space anyway, and that would never do. It was his crew that would back her up, no other.

"How can we help?" said Archer.

"The Orions will believe T'Pol a Vulcan slave," said Admiral Ryan, "but they won't believe two Vulcans acting together, as master and slave. The Vulcan High Command has requested that one of us play a role in this mission."

Captain Archer looked at T'Pol, in surprise. She said nothing, and Admiral Ryan continued speaking.

"This being so far out of the norm for us humans, new kids on the block and all, we'll have to ask for volunteers to crew a small ship and one volunteer in particular willing to pose as T'Pol's master and primary partner in this endeavor. If they screw it up, he'll face a nasty death after a strenuous interrogation and her's will likely be even worse, so it's no joke."

"If I might make a suggestion in the interest of efficiency," said T'Pol, "I'd like to speak to Commander Tucker first. I believe he would be willing to help me, ah, help us out with this mission."

"He's the Chief Engineer," said Ryan, speaking to Soval, then turning back to T'Pol. "Wouldn't you rather take someone from Security?"

"Why him, T'Pol?" said Soval.

"I've worked with Commander Tucker quite extensively since boarding the Enterprise. We work well together and I have confidence in his abilities and in his character, which could be vital in a situation like this."

"Perhaps we should take a moment to look over all the candidates," said Soval.

"You logic is sound, Soval," said Archer, "but it's her life that hangs in the balance, and Commander Tucker is a good man in a bind. Illogical as it may sound, perhaps we should let her choose."

Expecting an argument from the Vulcan, Archer was surprised when Soval said nothing. He wasn't sure what to make of that, so Jon simply looked at T'Pol.

"Ask him now, T'Pol."

T'Pol nodded and left the room for Engineering.

"Who do you suggest as a backup, Jon," said Ryan, looking at Jon, "if Trip declines to participate?"

"We don't need a backup," said Jon. "Trip will do it."

"You sure?" said Ryan.

"I am, Admiral. He and T'Pol argue incessantly with each other, hell, half the ship is already placing bets on which one will kill the other, but Trip won't let her go alone into something like this and he won't trust anyone else to watch her back. She's right to place her faith in him."

"The Tal'Kir is on its way to your coordinates, Captain," said Soval. "In her Shuttle Bay she is carrying a small Risan freighter. She's not much to look at, but her engines, armor and weapons are top notch. Such ships are common in Syndicate space, commonly used for smuggling luxury items. She will serve T'Pol and the Commander well on their mission, without drawing undue notice."

Archer nodded, and said, "Good. Even a small freighter is roomy. We can add a few people to the mix then, as backup."

"Who do you have in mind?" said Admiral Ryan.

"Ensign Mayweather is a hell of a pilot, and they might need one. Add Lieutenant Reed and maybe Ensign Sato, in case they need an interpreter. A small group like that can easily pass themselves off as smugglers."

"Sound like we have a team," said Soval. "I'd volunteer some Vulcan operatives, but the first time that freighter gets scanned for life signs, the operation would be blown, as you humans would say. Vulcans do not venture into Syndicate space, save in battle-cruisers."

"I understand, Ambassador," said Archer.

"Also, one of our doctors will have to install the training whip in SubCommander T'Pol. Your Doctor Phlox may observe, in case he should have some cause to remove the device."

Archer was surprised, and said, "I assumed we would just attach the unit on T'Pol with a surgical adhesive. Why install a working neural whip in T'Pol?"

"The Orions routinely scan for malfunctioning whips in most public spaces. If a Vulcan slave had an inactive whip, and the one in charge of her did not seem troubled by that fact—"

"It would mark them out quickly," said Archer.

"Yes. In addition, the captain of the Tal'Kir will provide you with a rather large data file with everything we know about the Orion Syndicate, so that you may start planning the mission as you see fit."

"Thank you, Ambassador."

"We should resume our conversation in a day or so," said Soval, after you've briefed your team, the Tal'Kir has dropped off your team's freighter and you've had a chance to look over the data we've provided."

"Sounds good," said Archer, and StarFleet ended the transmission, after Ryan gave Archer a friendly nod.

* * *

T'Pol entered Engineering in search of Commander Tucker.

"Ah, SubCommander," said crewman Kestre. "I was on my way to the Bridge to see the Captain and Trip asked me to pass you a note. I meant Commander Tucker."

"Thank you, Crewman," said T'Pol.

She unfolded the paper to see a drawing of a long, short legged canine, a beehive of mustard on his head, laying atop of what appeared to be a hot dog bun. Underneath, she recognized the Commander's writing. Lunch at 13:00?, it said.

"Where is the Commander?" said T'Pol to a crewman working nearby.

"In his office, sir."

T'Pol entered Trip's office a few moments later, to find the man engaged in digital firefight against three or four opponents.

"Your drawings are amusing, Commander," said T'Pol, holding up Trip's note, "but unnecessary. We seem to have fallen into a routine in which we lunch together daily, unless work intrudes. In any case, the comm unit is more efficient."

Trip grunted and T'Pol was not certain that he was listening.

"It is good to see that you are taking care of ship's business, Commander," said T'Pol, sarcasm apparent in her voice.

"Actually, I am taking care of ship's business, my fine Vulcan SubCommander," said Trip. "I do my best thinking when I'm killing digitally, and I've got a whopper of a technical issue to deal with."

"If you say so, Commander," said T'Pol.

"This is an oldie but a goodie, T'Pol. It's the first of the FarCry franchise. I'm all alone, on a tropical island paradise, hunted by mercenaries and genetically created monsters. But I'm armed now, so I'm hunting them as well."

"Challenging as that may be," said T'Pol, "I am afraid something has come up."

"Something important?" said Trip, tearing himself from the monitor to gaze at T'Pol lovely face.

"Yes, Commander."

Trip capped his last opponent with a head shot, then pushed the keyboard back to put his legs on the desk, and said, "Tell me about it."

Ten minutes later, he knew enough.

"Never a dull day in StarFleet, eh? said Trip. "Well, that's why I signed up."

T'Pol was pleased that she could count on Commander Tucker, no matter what. She was honest enough with herself to admit that she possibly, perhaps, just maybe, felt the very slightest hint of attraction towards the human, so slight it was barely there, and it was good that he had worthwhile qualities, for it meant that this very minor attraction to him was entirely reasonable, a completely logical act. Still, to make sure there was no misunderstanding...

"So you are willing to assist me in this matter, Commander? You do understand that it will be dangerous?"

"I'm with you to the bitter end, T'Pol," said Trip with a smirk. "Even hated enemies can join forces in a common cause."

T'Pol looked down, seemingly finding her hands fascinating, then said, "You are not my enemy, Commander."

The tone of her voice, bothered Trip for some reason. Did she seriously think he hated her, that he considered her an enemy? They had not known each other very long, and perhaps Vulcans didn't joke with each other, so it was possible. And it was true that he and T'Pol still seemed to argue daily, even if it was more good natured now than in the beginning, but still…

"T'Pol."

"Yes?"

"Look at me," said Trip, and T'Pol raised her eyes to meet his. "You're not my enemy, T'Pol. We argue all the time, so I was trying to make a joke. Most of them are freaking brilliant, but one in every million of my jokes is a flop. I'm sorry if what I said disturbed you."

T'Pol nodded, uncertain of what to make over the Commander's ability to read her moods so easily. Most humans were stymied by a Vulcan's inscrutable demeanor.

"It is one in nine point three, Commander."

"What?"

"I have done the math, Commander. One in every nine point three of your jokes is a flop."

"As Malcolm would say: Bloody hell!"

"It is one in nine point one now, Commander."


	9. Chapter 9

**—CHAPTER 9—**

The Vulcan battle-cruiser Tal'Kir had dropped off the Risan freighter, named Silin by the faded script on its starboard side, and after giving it a once over, Trip declared it fit as a fiddle, and a hell of a fiddle at that. Travis took over from there and after a two hour test flight seemed well pleased at the hot rod the Vulcans had provided.

Archer had a complete scan done of the ship, then forwarded the data to StarFleet. The Engineering weenies would find something interesting there. As the most primitive of the space faring species they'd made contact with, StarFleet always had something to learn from alien technology. Now if they could just figure out how to scan a Vulcan battlecruiser… But the Vulcans had some kind of scanner jamming technology protecting their first tier ships, as a matter of principle.

It took about an hour to attach the neural whip to T'Pol. It was a lot more compact than the basic model, a slim, flexible metal mesh contraption about two inches square, placed at the base of T'Pol's skull. Trip's counterpart to the whip simply clipped to the back of the left ear, close to, but not attached to the skull.

The base unit, the Vulcan doctor explained, merely picked up Trip's brain waves, and entrained the same patterns into T'Pol, using her implant. So if Trip recalled the painful memory, say of burning his hand, the neural whip would create the same pattern in T'Pol and she would feel the pain, without taking any physical damage. If Trip had never burned his hand, but could imagine it, that would be just as good as the real thing. The strength of the effect which T'Pol would feel could be adjusted by Trip's base unit, so that a small pain, or pleasure, could be magnified for T'Pol, or reduced as desired. Trip had theorized that they could use this link as a crude communication device and retreated to the Mess Hall with T'Pol to try it out, while the rest of the crew went about its business.

* * *

Two days after his initial conference call with Admiral Ryan and Soval, Captain Archer and the chosen team were seated around a conference table, their attention focused on Dr. Phlox.

"I'll be brief," said Phlox. "I've studied the medical parts of the data package which we've received from the Vulcans, and I've observed T'Pol's operation, minor though it was. I will have no trouble removing the device, if called upon to do so."

"Any long term effects of the neural whip, or the base unit," said Captain Archer, looking at the Doctor, "on Trip or T'Pol?"

"There should be none at all, Captain."

Further discussion was interrupted by the chirping of the comm unit.

"Evers to Captain Archer."

Evers was the crewman manning Hoshi's Comm Station.

"Yes, crewman."

"We are being hailed by StarFleet."

"We're expecting the call, crewman. Route it here."

"Yes, sir."

A moment later, Ryan and Soval were displayed once more upon the central monitor. After a few minutes of social pleasantries and introductions, talk turned to the neural whip.

"Speaking of which," said T'Pol, "Commander Tucker has managed to modify the whip into a crude communication device."

"How did you do that?" said Soval, looking at his protégé, T'Pol, then at Trip.

"Just duplicated the mechanics of the whip in reverse," said Trip. "Now her neural patterns will be transmitted to me, as well."

"To what purpose, Commander?" said Soval.

"Think about it. I can make T'Pol feel what I want her to feel, but she can do the same to me. Pair that function with the Morse code—"

This was the first Archer had heard of it, but he liked it.

"So you have an undetectable method of two way communication between the each other," said the captain.

"Yep," said Trip. "Tap for a dot, a swipe to the right for a dash, on the back of our hand, or simply imagine the Morse code sequence, and we are communicating. It's cumbersome compared to a comm unit, but invalueble in case she gets separated from me. I've built several backups of the base unit, in case the one I'm wearing takes some damage, and the Orions will not remove T'Pol's whip, so we should be fine."

"I see T'Pol was wise to choose you, Commander Tucker," said Soval, "but is there some reason you simply could not spell out the words on the back of your hands. It might be faster than Morse code."

"I'll be damned," said Trip with a smile, and T'Pol seemed off put as well. "Glad to have your input, Ambassador."

"Think nothing of it," said Soval. "I take it you've planned out your mission and you'll soon be ready to go?"

"We are leaving tonight, Soval. I've forwarded our plans to your office under Tetra-Kanda encryption," said T'Pol, "though I would rather you disclosed that information to no one, unless absolutely necessary. I forward it only in case we fail and disappear and you send another team in. It might help them avoid our mistakes."

"Disappear?" said Trip. "We can disappear? I don't know how I feel about this."

"Shut up, Trip," said Archer.

"Were the clothes we sent adequate?" said Soval.

Vulcan tailors had made a number of outfits in the style and cut of the clothes found in Syndicate space. It's not like they could go into Syndicate space wearing their StarFleet uniforms, and there was no reason to stand out, and every reason not to stand out.

"They are adequate, Soval," said T'Pol.

"Well, I wish you all success in this mission and a safe return. Gratitude for your service, to all of you," said Soval, "on behalf of the Vulcan people."

After Soval's image vanished off the monitor at the completion of the call, Trip said, " Soval's gratitude is like a luxurious blanket, which will warm me for the rest of my life."

Hoshi and Malcolm chuckled at that quip, but T'Pol gave Trip a sad shake of the head, and said, "Between your earlier flop and the lukewarm reception of this joke, your numbers keep dropping, Commander."

* * *

The Silin had been underway for twelve hours now at warp 4.5, which was an impressive speed for a ship of this class. As the ranking officer on this ship, SubCommander T'Pol was sitting in the Captain's Chair, while Hoshi manned her station, Travis piloted the ship and Malcolm gave her a rundown on ship's defenses.

"Your people did quite a job on this ship, SubCommander," said Malcolm. "It's basically nothing but armor, engine and weapons, a gunship that looks like a merchant freighter. Eight phaser cannons, where one would be the norm on this type of ship. Vanadium steel construction and structural reinforcements throughout the ship, plus a double thick hull, also vanadium steel. This beauty can take quite a beating in a firefight. As for our personal use we have a dozen Andorian phaser rifles, ten Risan blaster pistols, thirty-six Klingon fragmentation grenades and about a hundred hand weapons of various types."

"I hope to do this without violence," said T'Pol, "which would draw attention to us, Lieutenant."

"I agree," said Malcolm. "But you never know the hand we'll be dealt, SubCommander. Did you happen to take a look at the manifest of our cargo?"

"No, but I have the list in my quarters. Why?"

"It's stuffed with Andorian Ale, Risan silks and some Vulcan art, mostly pottery and metal work."

"I was told we would be given some merchandise to complete our cover as smugglers. We can use it for payoffs or information," said T'Pol.

"That was a good idea," said Malcolm.

After shifting in her seat and looking around, though this was a small Bridge in which one would find it difficult to hide, T'Pol said, "Is Commander Tucker still alive? I have not seen him since we left the Enterprise."

"I believe he's in the Engine Room now, SubCommander," said Hoshi, "no doubt polishing the engines.

T'Pol waved at the Bridge's video display and with the flick of a switch, Hoshi activated the camera in the Engine Room. A curious sight awaited them all.

Trip had liberated a bottle of Andorian Ale from the Cargo Bay and one of Chef's huge avocado, smoked turkey and Provolone sandwiches from the stasis box and seemed to be enjoying a leisurely brunch as he watched a slender Vulcan beauty do some type of nude yoga.

Malcolm looked at Hoshi, and they both snickered at each other, then Hoshi looked at T'Pol.

"Am I interrupting you, Commander?" said T'Pol.

Trip looked around for a camera, then raised his sandwich in salute when he saw it.

"Not at all, T'Pol. Just snacking at my desk. What's up?"

"Do you usually drink this early in the day, Commander?"

"Since I'm walking into the lion's den in the course of this mission and I've never tasted Andorian Ale before, I decided to indulge. I don't want to end up dead, or find myself auctioned in an Orion slave market, with any regrets over how I spent my last few days of freedom."

"And the pornography?"

"Hey," said Trip, self-righteously, "it was your people that left this video aboard the ship! In the interests of cultural exchange and a deeper bond with your people I took it upon myself to view the video and so come to a richer understanding of Vulcans."

"That is a laudable goal, Commander, but that video is meant for educational and meditative purposes, Commander, not to provide you with titillation. You are misusing it."

"Oh, believe me, T'Pol, I am using it for educational and meditative—"

"I seriously doubt that, Commander Tucker."

"What can I do for you, T'Pol?" said Trip.

T'Pol could see that Trip was irritated now, and though she outranked him, an irritated Commander Tucker was as pleasant and compliant as a bear with a sore tooth so she wisely decided to move on.

"If you can muster up an appetite once more in thirty minutes, I would like to discuss some things over lunch."

"Fine," said Trip. "I'll have a Brownie Blast, while we talk."

"Your sugar addiction is becoming a problem, Commander. Vulcan dietary principles—."

"Never stand between me and my treats, T'Pol. I'll see you in thirty."

T'Pol stood and said, "I need to check some navigational charts before my lunch with the Commander. You have the conn, Lieutenant Reed."

A moment later she was gone, and Hoshi, Malcolm and Travis went back to watching Trip on the monitor, as he watched the lithe Vulcan beauty easily stretch into poses that would have given any feline a humbling lesson into the true meaning of flexibility. The Commander's appreciation of the Vulcan's art was apparent.

"Oh, yeah… Beautiful. Slowly my pet, slowly."

"Should we be watching this?" said Hoshi, giggling. "What if Trip gets excited and does something…"

"Then we blackmail him," said Malcolm, still a Section 31 operative at heart, though he was truly trying to shed his past.

"I can't watch this any more, Lieutenant," said Travis with a laugh, as Trip started humming along with the musical soundtrack of the video and drumming a beat on the tabletop... with his hand.

"I can hear you bastards talking. Turn that camera off. That's an order," said Trip, never missing a beat, never looking away from the video he was watching. "If you make me come up there, I'll make you regret it."

* * *

"I'll go with this," said Trip, taking stock of himself in the mirror, an hour after his lunch with T'Pol.

"Don't you want to try on something else, Commander," said Hoshi. "That's kind of plain."

"That's the idea, Hoshi," said Trip. "I want to be a ghost on this mission. I'm done here."

"Perhaps the Commander is just eager to return back to the Engine Room for more instruction in the art of moving meditation," said T'Pol.

She was ten feet from Trip, but hidden from his sight by an opaque partition. Trip, T'Pol, Hoshi and Malcolm were all trying out some of the outfits which the Vulcans had determined would be appropriate to wear in Syndicate space. Travis would find something later, when T'Pol or Malcolm could spell him.

Trip had chosen the Risan equivalent of a navy blue sweater, black cargo pants and black steel-toed boots. It was low-key, and seemed appropriate wear for a crewhand. Malcolm had selected something similar in tan and black. Hoshi, on the other hand, seemed determined to make a splash, with a green and silver metallic top, blue bell-bottomed pants and some stylish black leather shoes.

"What do you think?" said Hoshi, spinning gracefully to display her outfit.

"Groovy, man," said Trip making the peace sign with his fingers.

Malcolm murmured something that Hoshi took as a compliment, for she gave the Lieutenant a smile before going back to look for a silk scarf.

Trip was fiddling with his sweater in front of a mirrored wall, when T'Pol entered his view.

"Mother of God," said Trip, turning quickly.

T'Pol was wearing a dress for the first time, at least in his presence. It was a simple sleeveless tunic, a fetching shade of red, breaking three or four inches above her knees. The black sash that a human female would have fastened at the waist, she'd wrapped around her body an inch below her breasts in the Vulcan manner. Though she had been wise enough to choose a plain dress of simple cotton, it still looked amazing on her.

"You're not really wearing that dress..."

"Why not, Commander?"

"The idea is to blend in, T'Pol."

"And so, Commander? This type of garment is commonly worn by the enslaved in Syndicate space. I will blend right in."

"Not with those legs you won't."

T'Pol was confused. She studied her legs in the mirror.

"I do not understand your objection, Commander Tucker. There is nothing about my legs that would draw undue notice."

"They're drawing my undue notice, T'Pol. In fact, I'm getting downright agitated."

"He's right, SubCommander," said Hoshi, as she walked past them. "You've got hot legs."

"Hot?"

"Aesthetically pleasing, T'Pol," said Trip.

T'Pol felt a sliver of pleasure at the Commander's words. She supressed it ruthlessly. This was no time for foolishness.

"Perhaps the problem is the sandals, Commander. Should I wear something with a higher heel?"

"That would double my agitation, T'Pol."

"Very well, Commander Tucker. What do you suggest?"

"I saw some burlap sacks in the cargo hold. Let me staple a few of them together in the form of an ankle length dress."

"That is ridiculous, Commander. Now, do you have a logical objection to my outfit?"

"As a matter of fact I do, T'Pol. You are more than desirable enough for someone to slip a knife in my side in order to steal my base unit and gain control of you in the process, after which you get to live a life of forbidden pleasures in a Syndicate brothel, while poor Trip ends up wearing a colostomy bag for the rest of his life."

"You must stop being so melodramatic, Commander. It is unbecoming for a man of your rank," said T'Pol. "We go as we are."


	10. Chapter 10

**—CHAPTER 10—**

The Orions, and to a lesser extent the Nausicaans, were widely dispersed through the Borderlands like a cancer, bringing enormous wealth to the sectors in which they operated, hand in hand with the corruption and despair which their activities generated, so T'Pol simply chose a large Syndicate market, at random. It was in these larger markets that the mind probed Orion had said the Happa would be found.

Barat Gar was located on a hollowed out moon orbiting a yellow gas giant, itself orbiting the star labeled 74 Orionis. Like all Syndicate markets, it was heavily regulated. Weapons were not allowed in the markets to any but the Orions regulating the marketplace, so it was with great reluctance that Trip and Malcolm divested themselves of their phaser pistols and a half dozen or so blades between them both, while Hoshi set down a taser. T'Pol, as a slave, carried no weapons. An Orion tossed their goodies in a box.

"All of them," said the Orion, after looking at the readout generated by the banks of scanners burrowed in the ceiling, then at Trip.

The Orion's words to Trip were translated by the clip-on translation units which they were handed upon entering the market. It surprised them all that Earth's English was available as an language option, but T'Pol had told them that the Syndicate was efficient, if nothing else. The first human ships which were captured by the Orions were no doubt emptied of every bit of knowledge and technology, language among that data.

Trip sighed and tossed an electric stunner atop the blades.

"If I have to repeat myself," said the Orion, looking at the Commander once more, "I will bar you all from the market."

"Fine," said Trip, then reluctantly tossed several darts coated with a fast acting soporific which he'd concealed in his sweater sleeves, a slender garrotte wire concealed under his leather belt, a stiletto disguised as a pen, a naked blade of flexible steel fastened to the bottom of his left boot and three small balls, seemingly made of glass.

T'Pol looked at Trip with incredulity and even Malcolm seemed taken aback, for he now felt like an under-achiever.

"Now you can go in, tough guy," said the Orion with a grin, clearly amused with Trip, handing him a ticket. "You can pick these up on your way out, at any of those windows."

The Vulcan data had made it clear that the Orions were scrupulously honest in these markets, pirates though they were outside of them, for fraud here would quickly drive business away and cost them profit. It seemed they took market security seriously, so the entire team felt as safe as one could feel in dangerous territory.

Sure enough, Trip had been right and T'Pol's miminalist dress and the Vulcan within, drew a fair share of attention and Trip had to fend off a number of offers to purchase T'Pol. Hoshi had no such problems, as she wore no neural whip, so it was clear that she was in the market voluntarily. Still, Trip decided to have some fun with it all, by the time a fifth potential buyer approached them. He was a tall, thin humanoid of some undetermined species, and the fake smile on his face made Trip instinctually dislike the man.

"She's a beauty," said the alien. "What's her name?"

"Polly," said Trip, as T'Pol arched a brow at him, and Hoshi snickered.

"She's a Vulcan, no?"

"Yes. Vulcan."

"Is she for sale?"

"What's your offer?" said Trip, winking at T'Pol.

T'Pol returned the Commander's wink with a cool gaze.

"Twenty Ketsemi strips," said the man.

Trip had never heard of Ketsemi strips, nor had any idea of their value, but took it for granted that it was a low-bid.

"Twenty? Twenty strips for my little Polly! You must be joking."

The man smiled again, and said, "It was just my initial bid. I see that I'm dealing with a shrewd bargainer. Forty strips. It's a fair price."

"I was offered two hundred," said Trip, "just ten minutes ago."

"That's much too high," said the alien. "You should have taken it. The wench is not worth more than a hundred."

"She's worth less than that, my friend," said Trip, fondly, as he reached out to caress T'Pol's neck, and in order to maintain their cover, the SubCommander allowed it. "She's foul mouthed, defiant and as stubborn as a mule."

T'Pol's features did not change at the Commander's description of her, but there was a murderous glint in her eyes now, which hinted that perhaps Vulcans were not as unemotional as they'd been portraying themselves.

"Then you are too sparing in applying the kiss of the neural whip," said the alien.

That was Orion slang for the liberal application of the pain and/or pleasure giving properties of the training whip.

"I believe you're right," said Trip, moving his hand from T'Pol's neck to rub the length and width of her left ear, and secretly pleased to feel a shudder run through his superior officer, "but she's hypnotized me with those doe eyes since the day I acquired her."

"Her eyes are fetching," said the alien, before going his own way, "but it was her legs that attracted my notice."

"You were right, ok," said T'Pol after the alien had left, still flustered by the Commander's familiar touch. "You were right about the dress."

Trip just shrugged and refused to gloat, as T'Pol had expected. This infuriating human even robbed her of the pleasure of predicting his response.

"Can we get back to work, Commander?"

"Yes, Polly."

"You can use my Vulcan name next time, Commander."

"Calling you Polly keeps me grounded, keeps me in character. You wouldn't want me to slip, and call you SubCommander at the wrong time, would you?"

"And what was the purpose of your touch?" said T'Pol, after drawing the Commander a few feet away from Lieutenant Reed and Ensign Sato.

"It would be suspicious if I kept my hands off my own property, T'Pol," said Trip. "Our cover must be consistent, if it is to be believable."

"So you were acting solely for the benefit of onlookers?"

Trip smiled, and said, "It was a happy coincidence that what pleased me best, also furthered the success of our mission."

T'Pol wasn't sure what to make of Commander Tucker's words, but said, "Well, if you must do so again in the course of this mission, try to avoid my ears. It is an erogenous zone in Vulcans."

"As it happens, SubCommander, I already knew that, but we must all make sacrifices for the success of this mission."

T'Pol blinked once, twice, then three more times in rapid succession. She had no comeback to the Commander's words.

* * *

They'd spread out in the market place in teams of two. T'Pol was naturally with Trip, for he held her base unit, and it would be hard to explain to any Orion why she was wondering about the marketplace on her own. In that event she'd likely be truly captured and sold at auction. Hoshi went with Malcolm, and all of them were looking for a Happa, for the Vulcan which had mind-probed the Orions was something of an artist and had quickly sketched out a respectable drawing of a Happa for the team to study.

Fortunately, it was Trip and T'Pol themselves who were approached, two hours later, just as they'd finished a quick lunch. The Vulcan sketch had been quite accurate and Trip easily identified the alien as Happa. The alien looked surprisingly normal, other than the apparatus that looked like something a fighter pilot would wear. A black glossy helmet with an opaque face shield, from which protruded several bulbs which looked like filters. It was tall, about 6'5", well built. Two legs, two arms, five fingers, all flesh concealed by gloves or the close fitting environmental suit.

The alien looked at T'Pol, noted the neural whip patch on her neck, then saw the base unit Trip was wearing and so addressed the Commander.

"May I have a moment of your time?"

Trip looked at T'Pol, and the Vulcan stood and moved next to Trip. In an Orion market, the gesture would look like a token of respect, for both her master and his guest, but in truth it was a way for them to keep the Happa securely under their observation, while ready to attack or defend. Trip gestured towards the now empty seat.

"May I offer you a drink?" said Trip, hoping the alien would remove his face shield.

"That's kind of you," said the Happa, then tapped his helmet. "Unfortunately, I can not remove my gear. The argon in the atmosphere is an irritant to my kind, while the carbon dioxide is actually poisonous."

That could be true, thought Trip, or merely a convenient excuse to maintain its secrecy.

"In that case, what can I do for you?" said Trip.

"I would like to take a genetic sample of your Vulcan slave," said the Happa. "I'll pay you ten grams of gold, now, for that minor inconvenience. If she actually meets my standards I can pay you five, maybe six times what you'd get for her on the auction block."

"What are you searching for in her genetic code?"

"That is my business," said the Happa, voice distorted by its headgear.

"I asked," said Trip, "because I have another thirty Vulcans aboard my ship. If you do not find what you require within her genes, you might find it in the genes of another."

"Thirty," said the Happa, after a pause. "How did you come by that many?"

"I captured the crew and passengers of a Vulcan diplomatic transport, after which I blew that ship apart, using an Orion explosive device."

The Happa chuckled, and said, "Nice move. The Vulcans will be looking for payback from the Orions."

"That's their problem. So, what do you say? Come aboard, run your tests and then we discuss a deal, if they meet your standards. Or buy them all now, sight unseen, for a decent price," said Trip, placing his left hand at the small of T'Pol's back, then slowly down her buttocks, before pulling her close to him, in a gesture any Vulcan would find obscenely personal in a public place, "and I'll throw this beauty in, to clinch the deal."

T'Pol's heart was racing. She knew the Commander was trying to lure the Happa aboard the Silin and approved of his maneuver. She even approved of his familiar and possessive gesture of placing his hands on her, for it might entice the Happa to make a mistake if he found her desirable, a mistake he might not otherwise make. In truth, there was another reason she found the Commander's sure handling of her body quite agreeable, but she would rather allow herself to be torn apart by a pack of wild sehlat than admit that fact to another.

"I can't imagine why you'd want to part with her," said the Happa.

"You'd be doing me a favor," said Trip. "She's more trouble than she's worth."

"Than you are giving her too much latitude," said the Happa.

"It's a weakness of mine, I agree. I've grown fond of her, despite her rebellious attitude. This one constantly proclaims that she lives to serve me, that I am the center of her world, that she's loved no other as she loves me, yet she always does what she wants, claiming duty, logic, ancestor worship, you name it, she always comes up with a reason to disobey. I've wrestled with this wild cat every night for a month, and still I can not break her spirit, even with the aid of the neural whip."

"Perhaps you simply must try harder," said T'Pol, her tone cool, adding a belated, "master."

"See what I mean?" said Trip. "Come see my captives, make me a fair offer and take her off my hands. Perhaps you will succeed where I have failed. She's yours, but only if you buy all thirty Vulcans."

Still, the Happa was clearly suspicious, for he said, "I would bring along a few friends to help me decide."

"No," said Trip. "I have a crew of two. Your friends kill them, then you steal my slaves, my ship and most importantly, my life."

"You could bring the Vulcans here. I will pay you for your trouble."

"I can't do that. The Orions will overlook a small private sale here and there, but they won't overlook the sale of thirty captives outside of their auctions. At best I'll be heavily fined and banned from Syndicate space for five years, at worst I'll find myself on the auction block, after my ship is confiscated. No thanks."

"How do I know you won't just rob me of my gold?" said the Happa.

He was clearly wary of a trap, but Trip could tell the thought of testing and possibly acquiring thirty Vulcans was too tempting to pass up for this creature.

What the hell do they want with these Vulcans?

"Come alone aboard my ship," said Trip, "but don't bring any gold. If you find what you need, we make a deal. Look, I just want to be rid of these Vulcans with something to show for my trouble, and then move on to more profitable game. I can't be any more fair than that."


	11. Chapter 11

**—Chapter 11—**

The Happa withdrew a comm unit and excused himself for a few moments to speak to his 'friends'. Trip did the same, filling Malcolm, Hoshi and Travis in on the situation, and the goal.

Travis, who had remained aboard the ship, said, "I'll be in place by the time you get here, Commander. And ready."

"Good," said Trip. "I have to go. He's looking my way. Malcolm, Hoshi, meet us at the main gate."

"Yes, sir," said Reed.

When the Happa returned, Trip explained that he speaking to his crew, and a few minutes later, flagged Malcolm and Hoshi as they came into view.

"I need to pick up a few items," said the Happa, his weapons ticket in his hand, as he looked speculatively at Malcolm.

"We could do the same," said Trip, "or we could go unarmed up to my ship, and pick our goods up when I drop you off back here. Your call."

"All right," said the Happa, after quickly doing a series of mental calculations. "Let's go."

Twenty minutes later, the Happa was unconscious on the floor of the Silin's shuttle bay. Travis had set an ambush for the alien in the Cargo Bay, with a phaser rifle set on stun, as instructed by Trip, yet even with the element of surprise they'd almost bungled it anyway. The Happa had a warrior's fifth sense, for as they exited the shuttle and walked the halls of the Silin towards the Cargo Bay, the alien showed no unease, yet a few dozen steps outside the Cargo Bay, he acted.

Correctly judging T'Pol, a few feet behind him and to his left, the most dangerous opponent, he stopped abruptly and drove his elbow into her face with brutal force, before turning to Malcolm, and slamming the Lieutenant into the wall. Malcolm grabbed the Happa, intending to wrestle the alien to the ground, but the fucker was strong. The Lieutenant did not have to worry about the matter much longer though, for the Happa banged the rim of his helmet into Malcolm's forehead, causing Reed to go limp. It was not all going the Happa's way thought, for just as he released Malcolm and turned to assess the situation, Trip slammed a metal fire extinguisher canister against the side of the Happa's helmet, rocking the creature and forcing it to one knee. Still, it managed to wrest the bottle from Trip and with a bellows rose forward to dispatch the human. It was then that the Happa felt a vise like pressure against his trapezius muscle, where it met the neck, and slipped into unconsciousness.

"Ok, I hate these Happa," said Trip vehemently, looking at the bruised face of his commanding officer. "You okay?"

T'Pol merely gave him a cool glance, and said, "I am fine, Commander."

Hoshi was already at Malcolm's side. She'd been receiving some First Aid training from Dr. Phlox and was as close to a medic as they had aboard the Silin.

"Hoshi?" said Trip as he knelt next to the Comm Officer.

"I'm not sure. Get some water," said Hoshi, then a moment later, yelled after Trip. "And a First Aid kit."

As Trip ran for the Galley, T'Pol knelt next to Hoshi. The Ensign looked at the Vulcan's face with concern.

"That was a nasty blow, SubCommander. Any broken bones in your face? Do you feel numbness or tingling?"

"I am fine, Ensign. Just a bit put off with myself. He caught me off guard."

"Not your fault, SubCommander. This bastard moves like a cat."

Just then Travis exited the Cargo Bay, having heard the ruckus and crawled down from his perch. Taking a quick overview he moved next to the Happa and stood ready to stun him if he stirred.

Trip returned with water, and after Hoshi splashed some on Malcolm's face, the Lieutenant began to stir. Two minutes later he was close to normal, if still a bit dazed. Operating on instinct, he searched the Happa's body quickly, for any item that might have meaning for either the StarFleet or Vulcan intelligence agencies. T'Pol looked on approvingly, as the Lieutenant missed nothing, finally depositing a handful of items in his pockets.

"He's clean," said Malcolm.

Trip fiddled with the Happa's helmet for about twenty seconds, then said, "I can't find any latch on this thing. We could smash the face mask, but if he really needs that contraption to breathe he'll probably die. I'd like to determine his species though."

"I got you covered," said Hoshi, digging through the First Aid kit, finally pulling something out.

Bending next to the Happa, Hoshi flicked the cover off a syringe and jammed it into the alien's arm. A needle pierced the aliens flesh, collecting a sample of flesh, blood and hair, any and all of which contained the creature's DNA.

"Ok," said Hoshi, pushing the cap back over the needle.

Malcolm nodded to her, then looked at T'Pol, then Trip.

"What the hell do we do with him now?" said Trip. "We could wait for him to wake, then try to interrogate him, but I have a feeling he won't talk. We'll have to kill him, or imprison him in the Cargo Bay. I don't want him aboard the Silin. If he escapes he just might finish us all off."

"We can't kill him," said Hoshi, shocked at even hearing the Commander speak aloud that possibility.

They all looked at T'Pol. As the ranking officer it was her choice.

"Given our options—"

The glitter and sparkle of a transporter beam interrupted T'Pol, and a moment later, the Happa was gone.

Trip looked at Travis, and said, "Get us out of here. Now!"

"Where to?" said Travis.

"Anywhere," said T'Pol.

"And make sure we're not followed," bellowed Trip to the back of a fast moving Travis.

"What happened," said Hoshi.

"He was probably supposed to check in with his friends after boarding the Silin and seeing the Vulcans," said Malcolm, looking at Hoshi. "When he failed to do so, they suspected foul play, and beamed him out."

"But now they know what we look like," said Hoshi. "They know our ship."

"Fortunately," said Trip, "our Vulcan friends were prepared for something like this. We'll be ok."

* * *

Twelve hours later, the Silin came to a stop in a binary star system. None of the six planets in-system were habitable and there was no activity of any kind detectable to their sensors, so this was a relative desert in space. It was here that Trip and Malcolm walked on the exterior of the Silin, their magnetic boots making the task a simple one. Trip had a small canister on his back and a metal wand in his hand, which was connected to the canister on his back by a braided steel hose. With the flick of a switch, a stream of ionized gray paint which matched the color of the hull, was sprayed towards the ship's metal skin, isolated from the dispersive effects of open space by a weak force field. Within minutes the ship's name, painted in Risan script, was erased. Once Malcom had laid out some large magnetized stencils on the hull, Trip flicked a switch and painted a new ship's name, ST9K-001, in orange. Twenty minutes later, they'd done the same on the other side of the ship.

Trip and Malcolm made their way inside and stripped off their space suits, just as T'Pol opened the airlock's door.

"Any problems, SubCommander?" said Malcolm.

"None on our end, Lieutenant," said T'Pol. "Ensign Sato has already replaced the transponder with another, which matches our new designation."

"It will take Malcolm and I an hour or so, to pop the hull," said Trip.

T'Pol nodded her agreement, and said, "Very well, Commander. I will examine the Happa's DNA, which the Ensign has extracted from the alien. Perhaps it will tell us something useful."

* * *

"How's it feel, Admiral?" said Travis, looking at Hoshi.

Hoshi leaned back in the captain's chair, groaned, and said, "I was made for command."

Travis laughed.

"If we're successful in our mission, you could kill us all and return home with a good story, the lone triumphant survivor. They'll push Captain Archer aside, and make you the captain of the Enterprise on the spot."

"Don't give me any ideas," said Hoshi, laughing at Travis' ridiculous suggestion. "But now, your commanding officer could use some coffee, Travis. Get something for yourself as well."

"Yes, sir," said Travis, giving an elaborate salute before leaving the acting captain's presence.

* * *

The ST9K-001 had been equipped by Vulcans, which meant there was an adequate, if small, laboratory onboard. Given that T'Pol was a science major, the task of analyzing the alien's genetic sequence to see if the Happa was a member of any of the known species was laughably easy. A moment after analyzing the results which the computer had generated, and verifying it visually using the electron microscope, T'Pol was rocked.

* * *

After unfastening several hundred bolts over the course of an hour, Trip and Malcolm looked at each other.

"That's it, Malcolm."

"Thank God for mechanized tools, eh?"

"Yeah, no kidding. Let's pop the magnetic locks, and we're done. Call T'Pol."

"Right," said Malcolm and pressed the ship's comm button recessed in the wall panel by his side. "Reed to Bridge."

"Yes, Lieutenant," said T'Pol, who had just recently arrived back on the Bridge.

"We're about to pop the mag locks. Please monitor the release to make sure the detachments are clean and the sections clear the hull."

"Will do, Lieutenant," said T'Pol, and gestured to Hoshi.

The Ensign turned on the ship's external cameras and the main video display was subdivided into twelve separate views.

"Ejecting section one of three, SubCommander," said Malcolm, and a second later a section of the ship's hull detached from the main body and slowly floated off into space.

"Section one is clear," said T'Pol.

A minute later the process was repeated, and after a similar delay, repeated for the last time.

The ship which had once been named Silin looked completely different now, after the ejection of three sections of the hull which had been originally built only to give the ship's operators this option. What had once been a plain tube shaped ship which was clearly a freighter, quickly turned into something which resembled a horseshoe crab, made of steel, save that the tail was three times thicker than a real crab's, but T'Pol had seen the specs and knew the reason for that was to house the extensive sensor array built into that appendage.

"T'Pol, how we looking?" said Trip.

"Like a new ship," said T'Pol. "Let's all meet in the Mess Hall."

"Malcolm and I need forty-five minutes to put away our tools away and clean up."

"Affirmative, Commander."


	12. Chapter 12

**—CHAPTER 12—**

"Thank God for Chef Tucker," said Hoshi, licking her lips.

Hoshi and Travis were seated at the dining table watching Trip working to complete the meal, while Malcolm handled the logistics, dropping things off for Travis and Hoshi to distribute about the table. Trip had fallen into the role of the ship's chef since the first day, which was only natural given the man's obsession with his next meal and undeniable skills in a kitchen. T'Pol had fallen into the role of sous-chef without any discussion on the matter. She chopped and diced the items required, handed Trip the foods he needed at the proper times and generally saw to it that the process ran smoothly.

"How is it that we have meat on a ship stocked by Vulcans?" asked Hoshi.

"I had Chef put together a half dozen boxes of mixed foods for our mission," said Trip. "He knows the things I like to cook, so he took care of us."

"A vegetarian diet would not have been as terrible as you imagine it to be, Commander," said T'Pol.

"Well, we'll never know T'Pol," said Trip, "unless you toss our food out. If that happens, our lovely SubCommander will find herself on the menu. I could do wonders with your tender flesh."

"You could do wonders with the SubCommander's tender flesh?" said Hoshi, laughing. "Did I hear that right. Because a Freudian would find all kinds of meaning in that statement, Commander."

"Shut up, Hoshi," said Trip, fixing the Ensign with a steely glance.

Malcolm smirked at their exchange, and followed that smirk with another at the thought of explaining T'Pol's fate to Soval.

"What are we eating tonight, Commander?" said Travis as he walked into the Galley.

"You'll see in a minute, Helmsman," said Trip. "Don't bother the chef."

"Yes, sir," said Travis and started chatting with Hoshi.

"That's it for you, T'Pol," said Trip, looking round. "Go sit down and relax."

"As you say, Commander," said T'Pol, and joined the rest in watching Trip defy the fire gods with his cooking style.

Ten minutes later, the food started coming out. Toasted focaccia with caramelized red onion and mushrooms and topped with feta cheese crumbles and sesame seeds and large Greek salads. By the time they'd finished the appetizers and Malcolm had cleared the plates, the next course came out. Steamed jasmine rice, a vegetable stir-fry and grilled swordfish steaks basted with butter and a big basket of tempura battered fried shrimp and oysters for all to share, save of course T'Pol, who had a six seasoned strips of tempura battered tofu, deep fried, and a grilled portabella mushroom cap instead of the seafood.

Trip joined them at that time and noted that T'Pol, who was seated next to him, was nibbling delicately on one of her tofu strips.

"Ugh. I can't see how you eat that cursed bean," said Trip.

"That is an odd thing to hear, from the man who cooked the food," said T'Pol.

"T'Pol, I'll cook a possum for you, if you ask it of me, but that doesn't mean I'll eat it."

"There is no danger of me asking for a possum, Commander Tucker, but I assure you, this fried tofu is quite delicious," said T'Pol, stabbing a strip with her fork and pushing the tofu towards Trip's mouth. "Try it at least once and I will never ask again."

The rest of the crew watched the exchange merely to gauge Trip's reaction to the tofu, but Hoshi found something else of interest. She's spent four months of Vulcan, learning the language, and she knew Vulcans did not typically feed others off their plate, save perhaps for family, and even that was rarely done in public. And they never shared cutlery.

"Eat, eat, eat!" said Travis and Malcolm, pounding fists on table.

Discretely looking at T'Pol out of the corner of her eyes, Hoshi looked at T'Pol, really looked at her. The emotionless Vulcan with a wooden expression, as Hoshi had perceived her initially, didn't seem that way any longer. Sure, her expressions were subtle, but they were there, and at that moment, force feeding her tofu to a reluctant Trip, her face looked sweet, her eyes warm…

Holy shit, thought Hoshi, T'Pol is attracted to Trip!

"Eat, eat, eat!" said Hoshi now, along with the others, to conceal her thoughts, while her mind raced.

How long has this been going on? Is Trip attracted to T'Pol as well? Are they lovers? Impossible! But maybe not impossible in the future. They're always together. Fighting like cats and dogs half the time, true, but they seem to enjoy even the fighting. Oh, my, God, it's probably like foreplay for these two sickos!

As an extrovert, Hoshi was naturally something of a gossip, but she made a resolution never to betray this thing, whatever it was. Only a monster would jinx a couple this cute!

Trip savagely bit off a chunk of tofu, and before he finished it all, T'Pol shoved the rest of it in his mouth, along with her fork, Hoshi noted.

"Well?" she said, as Trip swallowed the last bit.

"Ok, it tasted fine," said Trip, "but I can feel my penis inverting, my breasts growing and my skin getting softer. This stuff is pure poison for a man bursting at the seams with raw testosterone, T'Pol!"

"Do you know such a man, Commander?" said T'Pol, and Hoshi groaned at the ferocity of T'Pol's thrust, while Malcolm and Travis laughed.

"Judging by the hungry look on Lieutenant Reed's face when you described your physical transformation," said Travis, "I think you should sleep with one eye open tonight, Commander."

Everyone but T'Pol laughed at that, though she seemed amused when Malcolm gave Trip a devilish grin as his eyes narrowed. With a satisfied sigh, Trip pushed his plate away.

"Excellent meal, Commander," said Hoshi and Travis and T'Pol nodded their agreement.

"Great meal," said Malcolm as he started bussing the table.

"And you're a natural busboy, Lieutenant," said Travis.

"Hey, Trip feeds me like a king, three meals a day, in exchange for being his whipping boy in the kitchen. I can live with it. And it's your job on our return trip. Remember our agreement, Travis."

"I remember."

"No dessert?" said Hoshi, disappointment audible in her voice.

"On the counter," said Trip. "I woke up at 05:00 to make that baby and then I hid it carefully, to keep you jackals from devouring it, just one taste at a time."

That last barb was aimed at Hoshi, who always denied her sweet tooth, yet could consume a bucket of sweets in the course of a day: I just want a taste, she'd say time after time, while throwing bite after bite down her gullet.

"What is it?" said Hoshi, who had bounced out of her seat and was the first to reach the dessert tray.

"Heaven itself. Torte Dobos. Five layered cake, with chocolate buttercream between each layer, topped with thin sheets of caramel."

Hoshi licked her lips and allowed her gaze to lovingly caress the torte, and said, "What's that I see on the side?"

"Ground hazelnuts and bits of white chocolate," said Trip.

"Really…," said Hoshi, lost in her larcenous thoughts, so much so that she jumped a bit when Travis spoke.

"I know that look!" said Travis.

"What look?" said Hoshi, defensively.

"Like you're about to grab the cake and scurry like a rat with it down a dark hallway, in search of a private place to bury your face in OUR dessert."

Ten minutes later, table cleaned off, a giant piece of torte and a cup of French Roast coffee in front of each crew member, they began the shoptalk.

"So where next, SubCommander?" said Malcolm, after which he shoved a piece of torte in his mouth and made an appreciative noise.

"Sebra, a huge marketplace in the Ramatis system," said T'Pol.

"Any particular reason, SubCommander?" said Travis.

"No particular reason," said T'Pol. "But it is a huge market in which we're likely to be overlooked, and it is a good distance away from our recent encounter with the Happa."

"What did your analysis of the Happa's DNA tell you?" said Malcolm, after taking a sip of his coffee.

T'Pol looked reluctant to speak.

"T'Pol?" said Trip.

"This torte is quite good, Commander."

"T'Pol."

T'Pol sighed, and said, "I do not know what it means, but the Happa's DNA was Vulcan."

"I didn't know Vulcan had criminals," said Travis.

"Every species has criminals," said T'Pol, "though such people are rare on Vulcan.

"You're sure, SubCommander?" said Malcolm, looking at T'Pol. "Your lab looked sparsely equipped."

"It was more than adequate," said T'Pol. "In any case, I forwarded my results to the Vulcan High Command. I'm certain they will confirm my findings and hopefully they can tell us more."

"How so?" said Hoshi. "Did you find something unusual in that Vulcan's DNA?"

"Nothing unusual enough to be called that," said T'Pol. "I saw some minor mutations, but the genetic sample was Vulcan. However, if records exist of such mutations on Vulcan, it might give us a starting place."

Hoshi said, "You think it might lead you to a region of Vulcan, or maybe a family blood line?"

"Any and all of that, if we're lucky," said T'Pol. "If we're not, that Happa was an off-worlder, a colonist, in which case we might not find a match for months. Or we might never find a match."

"What did you pull off the body, Malcolm," said Trip, looking at the Lieutenant.

Malcolm excused himself and returned a minute later with a small cloth sack, which he upended on the table. A dozen or so items were cluttered in a pile.

"We have a data chip," said Malcolm, pulling it out of the pile and handing it to T'Pol. "Encrypted. I'll let you know if I can crack it. Several coins, a ring, a tiny pocket knife too small to be considered a weapon by the Orions and a map of Syndicate space. Unfortunately, it's not marked in any way that I could see, though you may want to take a look at it as well, SubCommander, for markings could hold valuable information. Several keys and a pill box."

People started rummaging through the stuff, looking for anything that might stand out, but T'Pol's attention was drawn by Commander Tucker. The man had frozen suddenly and T'Pol had noticed his tension.

"Commander?" she said, looking first at the man, then at the pile of items in front of them all, for the cause of his discomfort.

"Give me that, Travis," said Trip. "Give me the ring."

The Helmsman handed over the item, and the rest of the crew watched as Trip took a long look at the ring, then folded it in his hand.

T'Pol held out her hand and Trip dropped the ring in the SubCommander's palm with a sigh, his fingers touching hers as he drew his hand back. T'Pol looked at the ring. It was engraved with the stylized form of a bird of prey in a dive, and oddly enough, holding a ball in each claw. The insignia told her nothing. It had told the Commander something, of that she had no doubt.

"You know something, Commander Tucker," said T'Pol. "What is it?"

"I've seen that logo before. I have a copy of it in my cabin aboard the Enterprise, inscribed on a medallion, meant to be worn on a neck chain."

"Where did you get it?" said T'Pol, though her logical deductions had already led her to the answer: it only remained for the Commander to confirm her conclusion.

"Ke'Relle," said Trip. "She gave it to me before she left the Enterprise."

Ke'Relle had been a Vulcan which the Enterprise had rescued from Orion pirates weeks before. She'd stayed aboard the Enterprise for a week or so and in that time had managed to annoy T'Pol mightily, though of course the SubCommander would never admit it.

"So Ke'Relle is mixed up with the Happa," said Travis.

"Maybe," said Malcolm, but I could think of dozens of reasons to argue both for, or against Ke'Relle being associated with the Happa."

"As could I," said T'Pol. "But it will not hurt to forward this information to the proper authorities, have them monitor Ke'Relle."

"Why did she give you that medallion, Trip?" said Malcolm.

"I assumed it was as a gift for rescuing her from the Orions, something by which to remember her. But," said Trip, "she did say if I was ever threatened by someone with that insignia, I should show them my medallion."

"I must go and notify the High Command," said T'Pol. "They need to pick Ke'Relle up and question her."

* * *

It was still night watch on the ship, a bit past 05:00, and T'Pol was alone on the Bridge, seated in the Helmman's chair. Vulcans needed less sleep than humans, especially when combined with meditation, so she'd taken every night watch since they began this mission, in the interest of maintaining the crew in peak condition. She was about to begin her meditations when one of the internal cameras showed motion on the main display monitor of the Bridge. T'Pol maximized the window to see Commander Tucker in the Galley, pouring himself a tall glass of his iced coffee and coconut milk blend. He was wearing his pajama bottoms, a t-shirt and Hoshi's Hello Kitty slippers, so if he intended to return to bed, the intake of caffeine was illogical. After perfecting his coffee with a splash of brown sugar syrup, T'Pol saw the man reach for the intercom button.

"Trip to Bridge."

"Yes, Commander."

"I'm coming up. What can I bring you?"

"Some tea would be nice," said T'Pol. "Hot, please."

"What kind?"

"Surprise me, Commander Tucker."

Five minutes later, Trip entered the Bridge, drinks in hand.

"Thank you," said T'Pol, as she accepted the cup from Trip.

A moment later, Trip sat next to her, in the Tactical operations chair, which was located next to Helm chair in this ship, so they were only two or three feet apart.

The ship had been stocked by Vulcans, so she was greeted by the pleasantly bitter aroma of redweed tea, though truly, she'd grown to like some of the human teas just as much as Vulcan.

"That coffee won't help you fall back to sleep, Commander."

"I went to sleep right after dinner, so I slept nine hours or so. I'm actually just starting my day."

"I see," said T'Pol. "The High Command reached out to me. They have no record of a Ke'Relle of Vulcan. She certainly never served in a military unit, as she had claimed."

"Doesn't prove anything," said Trip. "She could have been raised on one of the Vulcan colonies, or perhaps even a non-Vulcan colony. None of us asked her much about her past. We just made assumptions."

"True, Commander. However she seems to have vanished from the face of your Earth, as well."

"Really? Do your people think she's moved on to another planet?"

"Actually, Commander, they think she's still on Earth, using fraudulent identity cards to stay anonymous. They think she has taken a new name, and a new identity."

"No idea of the reason for it all, I take it?"

"No, Commander. Not at the moment. But some of our special operations people serving at the Embassy are looking into it all. They are now quite eager to question her."

Trip was conflicted. If she was associated with these Happa, and if she was moving about on Earth using fraudulent Vulcan identity cards, she was up to something shady, but… He really liked her, and he didn't want her tangled up with the Vulcan security forces. Oh hell.

They sipped their hot beverages for a time, then T'Pol said, "You know, we should test this neural whip, Commander."

"What do you mean, T'Pol?"

"We should determine the limits of control the whip imposes on me," said T'Pol. "If your base unit should be taken from you, I wonder if I should be able to act on our behalf, or if the whip would incapacitate me, or perhaps even cause me to turn against you and the rest of the crew."

"I think we can take it for granted that it would incapacitate you, T'Pol. That's what it's meant to do, after all."

"We can't assume that, Commander. Vulcan mental training is more rigorous than the norm, not to mention my own professional training, which may well negate the abilities of the whip. If not, we need to know what my limits are."

"I'm sure I could alter the whip, T'Pol. Perhaps lower its limits to a tolerable level right off the bat."

"The Orions do not allow gentler settings on their neural whips and they do a great deal of surreptitious monitoring for weakened whips, which makes sense, given the thousands of captives they have to control."

"It's your hide, T'Pol. Let me get the base unit from my quarters."

T'Pol savored her tea patiently until the Commander returned and slipped back into the Tactical chair and sat, his left leg folded under him. She was already in her meditative pose in her chair, legs crossed in a pose she could maintain for hours.

"Tell me when you're ready, T'Pol."

The SubCommander set her tea on the ground, and said, "I'm ready."

Trip's first sensation for T'Pol to sample was the memory of getting badly bitten by dozens of red ants when he was a child. That he remembered it all these years later, was a testament to how nasty it was, but T'Pol seemed unaffected. He imagined it once again, and turned the power settings up.

"T'Pol?"

"Unpleasant, but well within my limits."

The second test was the time his asshole cousin Karl had poked his butt with a cattle prod. T'Pol flinched a bit at that, but nothing more. A dozen more tests, each more unpleasant than the last, some bordering on the sadistic, some past that border.

"Well? How about it?"

"I could still have acted if called upon, Commander."

On they went through trial and error and found that T'Pol possessed a high pain tolerance was still able to act through any pain, save at the two highest power levels. Since most slavers kept the intensity in the low to mid levels generally, T'Pol would be able to attack an unwary enemy, which could be a life or death issue in some cases. Interestingly enough the mental sensations disabled T'Pol most. When Trip remembered an incident in which he'd actually drowned in the waters off the Florida coast, T'Pol tapped out in the low levels of sensation.

"Well, now we know," said Trip. "So long as they don't try to mentally drown you in the Gulf of Mexico you're my ace in the hole."

"Perhaps we should try the other setting, Commander," said T'Pol, head lowered.

It took Trip a second to make sense of it.

"Oh," he said with a smile, "you mean the pleasure settings?"

T'Pol nodded, head still bowed, and said, "We must prepare for all eventualities, as disagreeable as you might find the task."

"It's only logical that we plan for all eventualities, T'Pol, and I don't find the task the least bit disagreeable."

T'Pol raised her head and it was clear from the flush in her face and the tint of color in her ears that she was conflicted about these tests, and possibly excited, thought Trip, though the chance of that was small as he saw it.

"You are correct, Commander, it must be done," said T'Pol, and closed her eyes, in order that they might not betray her. "You may proceed at your discretion."

Now that her eyes were closed, Trip allowed his eyes to gaze without pause at the face of his lovely SubCommander, and his mind to wander back to their stint in the Decon Chamber, not long ago, a time he'd spent much time thinking of since then, and as his mind wandered, the base unit transmitted his neural engrams to T'Pol's neural whip, and she wandered with him.

Trip thought back to when he'd touched her ears, and he could tell she felt the sensation, because she tensed visibly, before she forced herself to relax. Trouble was, that damned feedback channel he'd set up for Morse code communication was feeding her engrams back at him, so it wasn't just that she was feeling his touch, he felt as if he was actually touching her ears now, in real life. He wasn't going to be able to keep as detached from this test as he'd thought.

He imagined himself behind her, and his right hand slipped across her waist to pull T'Pol into his embrace, while his left hand caressed her jaw, then gently turned her head to the left, placing her delicate right ear well within nibbling range, her neck only inches further away from his lips. He even inhaled her scent since they were sitting so close together, which only furthered the sensations.

Trip's duty demanded this sacrifice of him, and so he persevered, for the good of the Fleet. It was an odd sensation though, feeling the SubCommander's body, as he bent his head to begin his task as his right hand began to glide across her body, while another part of Trip watched T'Pol's face closely from his seat at Tactical, as her face flushed further, her eyes fluttered, her nostrils flared and soft whimpers escaped her lips—.

The hiss of the Bridge door opening snapped them both out of the abyss they'd been sliding into.

"So I grabbed Porthos by the tail and—," said Hoshi to Malcolm, as the pair stepped onto the Bridge, and she sensed that something was off.

Malcolm, more sensitive than Hoshi by nature and much more observant due to his training, knew they'd interrupted an intimate encounter of some sort. What type, he could not say, for the SubCommander was separated by a distance of two feet from Trip, but Malcolm knew he was not mistaken. The SubCommander was as close to rattled as he'd ever seen her, while Trip just emanated a cold anger at their presence, eyes narrowed to slits.

"What are you two doing here?" said Trip.

"It's 08:00, Commander," said Malcolm. "We're due for our shift."

Damn it, damn it, damn it, thought Trip, we started with the wrong end of the neural whip.

"Then you'd better get to it," said Trip, before turning to T'Pol. "Get some rest, T'Pol. We'll try our hand at meditation another time."

"Yes, Commander," said T'Pol, cool as a cucumber once again. "I will return to the Bridge in five hours."

"Make it seven, T'Pol. We're all well rested and I interrupted your meditation."

"That is true. Seven it is," said T'Pol.

* * *

"Ok," said Hoshi, once Trip and T'Pol had left the Bridge, "what the hell was that?"

Malcolm ignored the question, hoping Hoshi would drop the matter. She did not.

"Look," said Hoshi, "I know I'm not crazy, and if you hadn't seen this thing too, I'd die before telling you of it, but there's something going on, and we need to know what it is!"

"Why?" said Malcolm.

"Lieutenant, we could make a game of it, pretend we're secret agents or something."

"Umm, hmm," said Malcolm, a wry look on his face. "Secret agents. Do you think we could pull it off?"

"I know we could, Malcolm. Look, it would be just between the two of us, I swear."

"I like Commander Tucker," said Malcolm, giving Hoshi a brief glance as he began bringing up some schematics, "and T'Pol is a fine officer. Give me one good reason that I should stick my nose in their business?"

"I can't give you a solid reason, but I'll find some way to make it worth your while," said Hoshi with an impudent smile, and that promise and that smile were open to a lot of interpretations, thought Malcolm.

"Ok," said Malcolm. "I'm in, if you let me do my work in peace, now."

Hoshi gave a mock salute and said, "Good to have you aboard, Lieutenant Reed."


	13. Chapter 13

**—Chapter 13—**

It took the ship ten days to reach the market at Sebra and during that time Hoshi watched Trip and T'Pol like a hawk. Most of the time T'Pol was back to her prim and proper Vulcan SubCommander routine, though now and then Hoshi noticed the SubCommander watching Trip, only to then turn away the moment he sensed her attention and turned to face her. Only sometimes T'Pol did not turn away, and the eye contact between the two of them was interesting. The normally easy going Engineer looked as single-minded in his focus as a falcon on the wing, while the normally stoic Vulcan's gaze looked both subtly inviting and overtly challenging. What to make of that?

The course of events soon gave Hoshi other things with which to concern herself, for the ship reached the market at Sebra in due time. This time T'Pol would be going in as Hoshi's slave, while Malcolm and Trip watched from the sidelines.

"She looks cute as a redhead," said Malcolm to Trip, as they watched Hoshi and her pet eat lunch at a table reasonably close to theirs, say sixty feet or so.

"What?" said Trip. "What are you babbling about Lieutenant?"

"T'Pol. She looks cute as a redhead."

"Yeah, she does," said Trip, "though I didn't know Vulcan's had redheads until now."

Truthfully, redhead wasn't quite accurate. The Vulcan equivalent was something of a rich burgundy with streaks of dark copper. It looked almost black usually, but now and then, when the light struck at just the right angle, the color popped. It really was quite lovely. In any case, the long haired wig T'Pol was wearing was made of genuine Vulcan hair, so it looked authentic, and between that and a change in the clothing style of the SubCommander they all hoped it was enough to disguise them from the Happa.

"And that dress," said Malcolm, "it sure flatters her figure."

Trip turned to face Malcolm and said, "What the hell is wrong with you, Malcolm? Did you have stroke or something?"

The Lieutenant grinned shamelessly at Trip and said, "I'm just busting your chops, sir. Hoshi has this crazy theory that you and T'Pol are into each other. In case she's right, I couldn't resist poking the bear."

"There's a reason people don't poke bears, Lieutenant," said Trip, absentmindedly. "Unless you'd care to scrub this bear's toilet every morning and evening for the rest of your tour with the Enterprise. Well within my powers of discipline, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir."

"I don't think any Happa are going to take the bait," said Trip. "We've seen two Happa, they've seen T'Pol, but no one's approached Hoshi about her. We've spooked them."

"We don't know that," said Malcolm. "We don't know anything. Be patient."

"Ok, you're right."

* * *

It was three days later that they finally admitted defeat and tried another tack at Travis's suggestion. He, Malcolm and Trip were drinking in an Orion strip club, knocking about ideas and hoping some Happa would show up.

"You know," said Travis, "we're doing this all wrong."

"Share your wisdom, Travis," said Malcolm.

"If you want information on the Happa, go to an Orion," said Travis. "It's their market, everything's for sale."

"The Vulcans already tried that with the Orions they captured," said Malcom. "And they interrogated two hundred. Interrogated and more than that."

"Two hundred doesn't mean much," said Travis. "There must be millions of Orions in these sectors. Actually, more like billions."

"You might be right," said Malcolm. "But I do know that the Happa are steady customers who pay well. Why should the Orions betray a steady customer for a one-off payment from us?"

"No, not like that," said Travis, gesturing with his head towards a lithe Orion dancer doing some impressive aerial acrobatic maneuvers above the stage, from a series of rings, suspended on steel cables from the ceiling. "They live here, they know everything that happens here, and they don't care what business the Orion males have going on, far as I can tell. They're all about personal profit."

"Worth a try," said Trip. "We're getting nothing done here. Go on."

"We buy some dances, buy some drinks, probe discreetly for info on the Happa," said Travis. "We're just three innocent humans, first time out in space, at least this far, and we're just curious about everything. We don't just ask about the Happa, we ask about other species, merchandise to be found here, foods, drinks, everything. That way we don't tip them off."

"It will cost," said Malcolm.

"Oh, brother," said Trip, "I just know I'm going to enjoy justifying this expense to StarFleet and the High Command. What the hell, in for a penny, in for a pound. Let's start tomorrow night though. I've got a wicked headache, and I've had enough for tonight."

* * *

"Lap dances for information. Forgive me if I seem skeptical, but it sounds like a self-serving gambit," said T'Pol, later, aboard the ship as they all gathered round the dining table.

"Self-serving, SubCommander?" said Malcolm, and it was to the man's credit that he maintained a straight face.

T'Pol just looked at the Lieutenant for a moment, then said, "It is a ridiculous scheme, but let us hope it works."

"Let's hope," said Trip as he looked up at T'Pol from his place at the ship's griddle. "Malcolm, come get these."

A moment later, Malcolm laid down a dozen grilled cheese sandwiches for the humans and a salad, fresh flatbread and a bowl of wild mushroom soup in a clear vegetable stock for T'Pol. She looked at Trip as he sat down next to her with a pot of coffee for the table.

"Thank you, Commander."

He nodded, and said, "No problem. I know you don't like fatty foods."

"You don't know what you're missing, SubCommander," said Travis, even though the hot cheese was burning his mouth.

"Yum, yum," said Hoshi, hands greedly reaching for a sandwich. "Give me."

"Still, it was kind of you to go out of your way, Commander," said T'Pol.

Trip waved off his gesture as inconsequential but T'Pol was about to say something more to express her gratitude to Commander Tucker, when she noticed Ensign Sato looking back at her with an odd look in her eyes, so T'Pol began eating instead.

* * *

"Ok, ok, so now Trip is T'Pol's personal cook," said Hoshi to Malcolm, as the two of them washed dishes.

"Oh, come on, Hoshi," said Malcolm. "He cooks for all of us."

"No, no, Malcolm. He baked her a freaking basil flatbread, made her a bowl of mushroom soup and chopped up a salad, while we had some lousy grilled cheese sandwiches. There were three kinds of wild mushrooms in that soup, Malcolm. That's got to mean something."

"Mushrooms are mushrooms, Hoshi, and you love Trip's grilled cheese. You matched Trip, Travis and I bite for bite for two sandwiches."

"Yeah. Well they are the Cadillac of sandwiches. Two kinds of cheese, grilled crusty bread, onions sauteed in butter until carmelized."

"And who ate that last sandwich, when everyone else was stuffed?"

"Me," said Hoshi.

"And you know Trip would cook anything for you, if you asked for it. Hell he would have roasted a turkey for you if you'd asked for one, Hoshi."

"Yeah, I know, but he did it for T'Pol without being asked. He's looking out for her as a matter of course. She noticed it as well, Malcolm."

"You're reaching, Hoshi."

"Maybe you're right," said Hoshi, a bit crestfallen now, "and maybe you're not. I know I can't prove it to you yet, but I know I'm right, Malcolm."

"Of course you are, Hoshi."

"I know I'm right."


	14. Chapter 14

**—Chapter 14—**

Operation G-String, as the crew had started calling it was due to commence in a few hours and the crew was gathered in the Galley to discuss things over coffee.

"So Travis and I are monitoring you guys from aboard the ship," said Hoshi.

"Right," said Trip. "We'll leave our comm units on so you can hear what's going on. If we get in serious trouble you guys can hopefully position the ship in a place from which you can transport us out of there."

"Still don't feel right about using that thing," said Malcolm. "I know it saved the Captain's life, but it's still not a proven tech as far as I'm concerned."

"It was good enough for the Happa," said Trip.

"Their transporters may be more advanced, Commander."

"Well, Malcolm, given the choice between the transporter or having my head split open by a Happa, I'll take my chances," said Trip.

"Now why is the SubCommander going with you guys?" said Hoshi. "Won't it put the crimp in your festivities?"

"Slaves accompany their masters everywhere in the Badlands, Hoshi," said Malcolm. "No one will blink and eye at it, and we may stumble into a Happa while there. She'll make a conversation starter, if they're interested in her."

"Anyway, the Orions see the Vulcans as sexless computers," said Trip with an impish smile just barely restrained as he looked at T'Pol, "cold, logical, mechanical…"

Trip waited, but T'Pol refused to rise to the bait.

"Given that fact, it would seem natural that I seek out the warm embrace of an Orion dancer, even though I could make use of Polly."

"We must get ready," said T'Pol. "We have a long dreary night ahead of us."

"Aye, sir," said Malcolm with a wink at Travis, "dreary."

* * *

"T'Pol, she wants to bang me," said Trip. "I don't want to have to put that in my report to StarFleet. First I'm hanging out in strip joints, now I'm sexing up Orion dancers. I got to tell you, T'Pol, that's not gonna look great on my record."

Their night had turned out just about as one would have imagined it would. Trip, Malcolm and T'Pol had spent the past five hours bouncing in and out of crowded Orion joints which functioned as operations to efficiently fleece their customers of credits by combining the functions of a bar/casino/strip joint and brothel all rolled into one large building. Once there they watched for Happa, listened for any background chatter in which Happa were involved, bought drinks for other patrons and dancers for information of the Badlands which they eventually brought around the Happa, and the end result of it all was the suggestion, from several different sources to come to the Steel Cat and speak to Misri. And meeting Misri had led to this, for it seemed the Orion was taken with Trip's blue eyes and wholesome demeanor. She'd had extensive contact with the Happa, she said, and would share her knowledge with Trip for a price: five hundred Ketsemi strips and a night of passion.

"No one will care how we got the information, Commander. In any case, I order you to do what it takes to interrogate this Orion female."

"Really? You're ordering me."

"Yes, Commander. As regrettable as you may find this task, it must be done."

"Ok, I'm in."

"What?"

"I stand ready to follow your orders, SubCommander. You win."

"Yes, Commander Tucker," said T'Pol, and only a lifetime of discipline kept sarcasm from coloring her tone, save in the slightest. "I win."

So there they were, in Misri's suite, while the Orion showered and slipped into something less restrictive, though how an item of clothing could be less restrictive than the tiny dress she was already wearing, was beyond T'Pol. This place was still within the boundaries of the marketplace, so Trip was still without weapon, but things had gone well enough, all things considered.

"Ok, she could come back any second, T'Pol, so listen. I'll leave my comm unit in my left pocket. Malcolm is in the lobby. Call him if we get in some kind of trouble."

T'Pol was distracted. Her keen sense of smell was overpowered by the sickly sweet scent of the Orion's pheromones, but beneath that, more subtle, but also much more fascinating was the Commander's scent. It was a clean scent, but there was something in it which drew her, and she could only catch a hint of it, which frustrated the Vulcan. She breathed in deeper and deeper, unconsciously, trying to inhale enough of his scent to identify what she found so attractive about it.

"T'Pol! Are you listening?"

"I apologize, Commander. I was distracted."

"By what! Jeez, T'Pol, if you're working out the ratios of—"

"I apologize."

"Right. Ok, sorry. You heard me about Malcolm and my comm unit."

"Yes, Commander."

"Good. Now—"

T'Pol's earlier question on the topic of Orion dancers and restrictive clothing was answered when the Misri returned quite naked, save for what seemed to be an orange silk sash around her hips.

"What's the sash for?" said Trip.

He'd intended to make a joke of it, but the sight of the naked dancer moving towards him with catlike grace had made quite an impact, for his words came out in a strangled croak. His whole body was suddenly coiled, like a steel spring, his hands tightening into claws, his teeth grinding.

What the hell is going on? thought Trip. Did she slip me something?

He didn't think Misri could have slipped something past him, Malcolm and T'Pol, but perhaps… All he knew was that he wanted to bite her, kiss her, fuck her, all at once, and it was overpowering. Her scent was overpowering. That was it, perhaps.

T'Pol olfactory sense was now flooded with the Commander's scent and the scent of his arousal was intoxicating, though it infuriated T'Pol that the Orion had been the cause of that arousal.

Could this be jealousy I'm feeling? she wondered. Impossible. Is it? Perhaps not… Fascinating.

"I'll show you what the sash is for, upstairs," said Misri. "Unless you want your pet to watch and learn how to truly satisfy a man?"

Trip winked at T'Pol, did his best robot dance and said in a monotone, "I am a Vulcan. I am not programmed for pleasure. Hit Alt-CNTRL-Delete to REBOOT. REBOOT. REBOOT."

Misri laughed and said, "We'll go upstairs to my bedroom then, human. Let me get a bottle of Gorn branswa, first."

The Orion headed for her kitchen and Trip looked after her admiringly.

"Allright, Mi— Arrrgghh! Damn it, T'Pol!" said Trip, startled and pained, for T'Pol had sunk her teeth into him. "What the hell?!"

"Apologies, Commander. It must be a flaw in my programming. I shall REBOOT."

"That's not funny, T'Pol!"

Misri had returned to find Trip glaring at T'Pol, while holding his neck. The bite mark she saw on the human's neck said it all.

"She knows what I'm going to do to you and she wanted to mark you as hers. This little Vulcan wildcat needs a lesson in respect, Tucker-Trip," said Misri.

"I told you, it's either Trip, or Tucker. Pick one. Anyway, forget it. Let's open that booze."

"No, human. Treachery must be repaid in full. Give me the base unit if you will not use the neural whip on her."

Trip might not have had much experience with Orion females, but he knew enough by now that they were fiercely jealous of every other female, other Orions included. If he handed her the unit, T'Pol would suffer quite badly.

"I'll do it," he said, partly to move things along, partly because he was still annoyed at the pain from T'Pol's wicked bite, but mostly because he felt compelled to do as the Orion asked: perhaps she had drugged him, after all.

He manipulated the neural whip through his base unit, but he used pleasure to discipline, rather than pain. T'Pol's body stiffened at the unexpected sensations, and Misri laughed with delight, mistaking what she saw.

"Harder, Tucker! Make her really feel it."

"Enough, please. Stop, master," said T'Pol, panting.

"That's it? Vulcans and their pain management techniques squeeze every bit of fun out punishment, no?" said Misri. "You would enjoy punishing me, I promise. Sell her, Tucker! Please! Sell her tomorrow. Buy my contract. I'll make you happy, I promise."

"Show me," said Trip and nodded towards the stairs, rubbing his neck.

As Misri bounced towards the stairs, Trip spared one last narrow-eyed look for T'Pol, but the Vulcan merely raised a brow in return, poised as ever. As soon as the Commander climbed the stairs though, T'Pol's mind started racing.

Oh, why did I tell the Commander to pleasure that Orion? How could I ask that of him? No, I didn't ask, I pressured the good Commander into it all, I misused my command authority to order the man into a terrible situation… I should march in there, now, and drag that Orion hussy off my—

T'Pol was spared from herself by the subtle vibration of the Commander's comm unit. Moving swiftly she activated it.

"T'Pol."

"SubCommander," said Malcolm. "We have trouble."

"Elaborate."

"I see a Happa, along with a half dozen Orion security guards. It looks like they're waiting for someone, and I think they're coming for you, or Trip, or both."

"Why?"

"Just a gut feeling that the Happa found out someone was asking questions about them, SubCommander."

"You are speculating, Lieutenant."

"Aye, sir. And that's saved my life, now and then."

T'Pol had seen the Vulcan files on the officers of the Enterprise, before she boarded the ship. Lieutenant Reed's file raised a big red flag. Officially, his file showed him working as an MP and then a secondary Tactical officer in several unimportant postings, then he just gets a bump to Tactical officer of the pride of StarFleet, the best space ship the humans had. Discreet inquiries showed a pattern of praise for Lieutenant Reed's performance, though few seemed to remember anything of the man himself. The Vulcans were many things, but they were not fools. Reed was, as humans would say, a spook, so T'Pol was inclined to trust his hunch.

"Suggestions."

"Head for the roof. I can meet you there. Travis can bring the ship down to us and Hoshi can transport us all aboard the ship and out of here."

Their ship was suited to enter a planet's atmosphere, unlike some of the larger freighters than remained in space their entire lives, and Misri's place was in a two hundred story high-rise, so Travis would have no problems finding it. It was a viable suggestion, but…

"That gives us nothing, Lieutenant. We came here for information."

"I've thought of that. Lure the Happa to the roof. We snatch them up as well and get the hell out of here. Your people can interrogate them at their leisure."

"We have already decided that the Happa are too dangerous to keep prisoner, Lieutenant."

"You don't understand, SubCommander. We save their patterns in our transporter buffer, but we do not re-materialize them until we get back to Vulcan, or at least make contact with a Vulcan battle-cruiser with the facilities and people to properly restrain the Happa. I've already filled Hoshi in on that part of the plan."

T'Pol was stunned. It was so elegant, yet so simple. She should have thought of it herself. She'd have to keep her eye on Lieutenant Reed.

"Excellent idea, Lieutenant. How do you—"

"Two more Happa just joined the group, SubCommander, and they're on the move. Heading for Turbo-Lift One. Decision time, SubCommander. It might be nothing. It might be something."

"Suggestions, Lieutenant."

"Get Commander Tucker, now. I've timed the transit from the lobby to Misrin's place. You now have just over three minutes before they show up at your door. Leave your comm unit on."

"Understood," said T'Pol and moved quickly for the Orion's bedroom, only to walk in on a most unsavory sight.

A shirtless Commander Tucker was embraced by that shameless hussy!… by the Orion Misri. His calloused hands cupped her breasts as his lips tasted those same breasts. A slight growl came from T'Pol, though she was not aware of it. The Orion heard T'Pol enter and turned to face the Vulcan, a look of anger on her face.

"You silly bitch! Get out!," said the Orion, a moment before T'Pol caught the Orion across the face with an open hand slap that knocked the Orion to the ground.

Vulcan strength being what it is, T'Pol could just as well have knocked the Orion unconscious with that slap, but it was necessary that Misri remain conscious.

"Not a good time, T'Pol," said Trip calmly.

The Commander's calm was at odds with the intensity of his scent which struck T'Pol like the heat of a furnace. She breathed in deeply and whimpered slightly.

"We have to go, Commander. Now," said T'Pol, then looked at Misri. "To the roof."

"What—"

"Now, Commander. To the roof."

Trip stepped into his boots and said, "All right. Let's go."

"Maybe you want to put a shirt on, Commander? Or would you rather flaunt the fact that you were about to disgrace yourself with this—"

Trip gave an exasperated sigh, grabbed his shirt and said, "Fine. Let's go."

They reached the doorway just as the elevator chime sounded. T'Pol stopped, looked back, just as the Happa and Orions which Lieutenant Reed had warned of stepped out. For a short eternity, both sides looked at each other, then T'Pol broke out in a run for the staircase, followed closely by Trip.

The shrill whine of Orion phasers shredded the silence just as Misri's voice sounded.

"The roof. They're headed for the roof, but take that Vulcan bitch alive! I want her!"


	15. Chapter 15

**—Chapter 15—**

"Mind telling me the plan, T'Pol?" said Trip to T'Pol as they waited for the turbo-lift to reach them.

The two of them had stair climbed up four stories before making a run for the lifts. Their pursuers were unsure on which floor they'd left the staircase, so they split up as well, to cover the first six floors.

"Stay alive. Make it to the roof. Get out of this sector and head back for Vulcan."

The elevator arrived and the two of them piled in just as two Happa and an Orion exited the staircase and headed for them.

"Just like that? We're giving up?"

"I'll explain later," said T'Pol.

"What about Misri?"

"What about her, Commander?"

"She's agreed to have my children, T'Pol," said Trip, as the elevator started moving upwards. "We're to be mated."

T'Pol's heart stilled at the stupidity of the Commander's words. That female was no fit mate for a man such as he.

"Tell me you are joking, Commander."

"I am," said Trip with a lop-sided grin.

T'Pol's heart started beating again.

"Really? You are making jokes now? I am going to kill you when we get out of this jam, Commander Tucker," said T'Pol, "and I am not joking, I assure you."

Trip's response was cut off by the turbo-lift's whine as the brakes engaged. The power went off, and the emergency lights came on as the lift came to a standstill between floors.

"The Orions," hissed T'Pol.

"Yes," said Trip, glancing at the ceiling. "There's the emergency hatch. See it?"

"I do," said T'Pol.

Trip intertwined his fingers together to make a step for T'Pol. She noticed and stepped onto Trip's hands with one foot, rested the knee of her other foot on his shoulders as she fiddled with the latch.

On the other side, the Orions began working to open the door and though it was illogical, T'Pol's imagination was wondering how the Orions would kill them if they managed to open their doors, before she opened the hatch.

"Got it," she said, and pulled herself onto the elevator's roof, only to spin around and look down on Commander Tucker. "Give me your hand, Commander."

The lift doors began to open and the glassy face shield of a Happa was apparent as the Orions grunted with a makeshift crowbar.

"Forget it," said Trip as he saw the Happa try to bring a phaser to bear on him: door opens one more inch and I'm done.

"Your hand, Commander. Now."

Trip hesitated. He didn't want his weight to drag T'Pol down into the elevator with him and he'd rather see the shot coming, instead of getting shot in the back or the stomach.

"Commander!"

Trip jumped and T'Pol grabbed him by the wrist, as he held her's. He was about to grasp at the hatch with his free hand to pull himself up, when he found himself swiftly pulled up, and through the hatch.

Oh, right, he thought. Vulcan strength. He would have been able to pull T'Pol up through the hatch, if not as swiftly, but a human female would have had no chance to duplicate T'Pol's maneuver.

"Impressive."

"Here," said T'Pol, as she began climbing a service ladder welded onto the wall.

They climbed three stories in the shaft, before they forced the turbo-lift's doors apart and pushed their way into the hallway. They heard the Orions calling out in the staircase and it was impossible to tell from here if the Orions were above them, or below them, or both.

"How much further, T'Pol?"

"This is 188. Twelve stories. We were fortunate that Misri's place was located so high in this building or we would be dead before reaching the roof."

"Mmm, hmm," said Trip, thinking for a way out, when they both turned suddenly as an apartment door opened twenty feet from them.

A bulky Orion stepped out, a box of tools in his hands. Maintenance man, thought Trip. The Orion looked at them both, suspiciously. I guess we are quite a sight, thought Trip.

"The lift's broken," said Trip.

"We'll get it back online soon."

"Any way for us to get to the roof, barring the staircase?," said Trip. "We've climbed enough for today."

"What do you want on the roof?"

"Aero-flight landing pad. Tour of the city with a business client."

"There's the service elevator. Used mostly for delivering appliances and such. It's on a separate power grid than the passenger lines," said the Orion. "It should still be working."

"Listen," said Trip pulling out a fifty gram gold strip which he'd earmarked as bribe payment for information on the Happa earlier in the night, "I've got to make that flight. How about you give us a lift to the roof?"

"Done," said the Orion, looking at the gold strip.

Trip handed it to the Orion, and the man said, "This way."

It was on the elevator that the maintenance man's comm unit squaked, with the frustrated voices of their Orion pursuers.

"Let me guess," said the Orion. "They're looking for you."

"They are," said Trip, deciding to level with the Orion. "I would suggest you not get involved with this. We're tougher than we look."

"I have no intention of getting involved," said the Orion, waving the gold strip which Trip had given him.

"I'll give you another strip for your radio," said Trip. "My pet here will punch you several times and then put you to sleep with a nerve pinch. You'll be bruised for a few days and sport a bloody nose, but if you tell them you were jumped, you'll be believed."

The Orion calculated the value of 100gms of gold and said, "All right."

Trip handed the Orion another strip and the man decided to place both strips in his tool box, hidden in a box of screws.

"I'd be disappointed if you stole your gold back once I'm unconscious," said the Orion.

"No worries," said Trip. "I'm a man of my word."

* * *

Trip, Malcolm and T'Pol made contact on the roof.

"Travis," said Trip, "do you have a fix on us?"

"Yes, sir," said Travis.

He and Hoshi were still in low-orbit. Once they broke position to rush in for the pickup, the Orion security forces would be alerted, and would try to capture them in order to determine the cause of their odd behaviour.

"How long to get here?"

"Ten minutes, give or take a minute. There's a lot of air traffic I'll have to watch out for, Commander, or I'd get there sooner."

"Ok, head on in, now, Travis. Make sure Hoshi is ready on her end."

"Yes, sir."

Trip held the Orion's comm unit out for T'Pol.

"You do it, Commander."

"In five minutes?"

"If we have that long, Commander."

Malcolm looked back and forth from Trip to T'Pol. They seemed to be communicating quite effectively, but they were leaving him out of the mix.

"What's the plan?" said Malcolm.

"In five minutes, Commander Tucker will contact the Orions," said T'Pol. "That will give them five minutes to get here, with the Happa. If it goes off well enough, we'll snatch up the Happa and ride off into the sunset."

"Things rarely work out as planned," said Malcolm. "Backup plan?"

"We are fortunate," said T'Pol, looking around the roof. "Relatively so. It's night, so even with the artificial lighting here, there are plenty of shadows in which to hide. Other than the two aero-flight pads, we have these large backup generators, and a mechanic's tool shop which will provide some primitive weapons. The roof structure itself provides us with many irregular surfaces, and that odd hump is responsible for making that loud whine, which should cover our sounds. This is a large area and even with nine men, they'll have to spread out quite a bit to make sure we don't slip by them. We should be able to hide among all this confusion for a while, at least a few minutes."

"Yeah," said Malcolm. "Ok."

Trip flipped out his comm unit, and said, "Travis?"

"Six minutes, fifteen seconds out, Commander."

"Got it," said Trip and walked away from Malcolm and T'Pol. "Listen, when you get here, have Hoshi make T'Pol her first priority, then the Happa, then Malcolm and I."

"Yes, sir," said Travis.

Trip turned to find T'Pol facing him and for once, her face was closed to him. He wasn't sure what she was thinking. She'd heard him though, of that he was sure. Damn her Vulcan hearing!

"You're the ranking officer, T'Pol."

"Yes," said T'Pol, and surprisingly left it at that. "It's time, Commander."

"Hey you dumb bastards, can you hear me?" said Trip and the manic chatter by the Orions came to a halt. "I'm not sure which you is more useless than the other. You Orions are dumb as dirt, but at least you try. You Happa are just as dumb as the Orions, but you're even less effective."

"You want to play games, human, let's play. Where are you?"

The voice had a slight mechanical tone to it, so Trip wagered it was due to the Happa's words being filtered through his mask.

"On the roof, you smelly Happa turd. I had the good fortune to run across a couple of armed Orions and had the presence of mind to relieve them of their weapons. I'm tired of running. Why don't you come up here, see what I've got for you?"

"Coming," said the Happa.

"You think they'll all come?" said Trip, looking at Malcolm and T'Pol. "For all they know, we're still on the floors below and this is a ploy to get them off our backs."

"We will see," said T'Pol. "I do not think they can ignore the possibility that we are up here, since they have not found us on the floors below."

"We should scatter, SubCommander," said Malcolm, before turning from them and dissapearing around a corner.

Trip looked at T'Pol and she looked back at him. She was a stunning woman. There was no trace of fear in her now, or if there was, it was controlled behind layers of discipline, which was beautiful in its own way, and Trip knew that if T'Pol were killed here today, he'd be haunted by her for the rest of his life.

"Stay safe, T'Pol," said Trip.

"Commander," said T'Pol, backing up while still looking at Trip until the man himself turned to conceal himself in the organized clutter of the roof.


	16. Chapter 16

**—Chapter 16—**

Two Happa led four Orions out onto the roof, leaving one Happa and two Orions on the floors below in case this was a ruse. The roof seemed deserted, but they wouldn't know, until they searched the roof.

"Comm units on," said the smaller of the Happa. "Call out if you make contact."

The Orions affirmed their orders and spread out, while the Happa stayed together, all moving cautiously forward. Klaran Ur, a hired Orion goon, had the misfortune to be the first to make contact with his prey, for as he peered cautiously into some shadows, Malcolm dropped on his shoulders from above, the human's weight forcing Klaran to the ground, as Malcolm drove a screwdriver into the side of the Orion's neck several times. The Orion died soundlessly, and Malcolm relieved the goon of his phaser rifle. Set on kill, he noted. These people weren't trying to capture them any longer. They just wanted them dead. He moved off, in search of his next target.

T'Pol got to him first. As Malcolm drew a bead on another Orion, something thrown from thirty feet or so hit the man in the chest. From the thump it made when it hit the ground it must have weighed twenty pounds or more. The man dropped like a sack of potatoes, only barely conscious. Looking at the missle through the rifle's scope, Malcolm made out what appeared to be a round plate of steel. Probably some discarded part from one of these generators. T'Pol. No human could have thrown something that heavy, that fast, and that accurately. That Orion was out of the game with a busted ribcage at the least.

One of the other Orions heard the man go down, and called out, to be joined a moment later by one of the Happas and two Orions. Malcolm was tempted to shoot the Happa, but they needed him alive, so he shot an Orion and tried to get the other, but that one was too fast. Three down, three to go, thought Malcolm, then he heard the Happa calling his friends, in the building below.

"They're here. Come quickly."

Ok, three down, six to go, thought Malcolm as he scrambled to move to a different location. Come on Travis!

The other Happa, accompanied by one Orion ignored the ruckus on the other side, for they'd heard a slight sound coming from their side. Silently motioning for the Orion to take the left side, the Happa moved on the right, phaser pistol in hand. The rapid sound of automatic phaser fire coming from the other side drew the Happa's attention for a moment from his current situation. He turned back swiftly at a shouted warning from his Orion partner just in time to see the human throwing some viscous liquid at his faceshield and blot out the light. The Happa shot blindly at the human's last location. He was rewarded with a scream, then his hand went numb as a steel pipe made contact with his wrist, knocking his phaser pistol from his grasp.

"Evrin," said the Happa's Orion partner as he drew closer. "It's me, Ker. Stop moving."

"Why the fuck didn't you shoot that human?"

"You were too close together, Evrin," said the Orion as he wiped the Happa's face shield with his sleeve. "If you'd jumped the wrong way, or if he'd used your body to shield himself I'd have cut you in two."

"I heard him scream."

"Yeah, you got him, but he got your phaser," said the Orion while looking in the direction in which Trip had vanished. He drew a phaser pistol from his side holster and held it out to Evrin. "Let's finish him off."

Reinforcements finally came as the last Happa and his two Orion enforcers reached the roof, and headed for the sound of phaser fire on the left, where Malcolm was playing a deadly game of hide and seek in order to buy Trip and T'Pol some time.

Evrin and his sidekick returned their attention to their prey and moved cautiously in pursuit of him. The Orion hissed to draw the Happa's attention and pointed to a bloody hand print on the wall. Evrin nodded and they continued on to come upon a curious sight. The Vulcan female was cradling the head of a fair-haired human in her lap. Evrin recognized him as the man he hit with his wild phaser shot, and looking at the man it was clear that he was in pain and medical distress, though conscious. Evrin was ecstatic. They'd thought it safest to kill them all, but he'd managed to catch them alive, and now he could find out who they were, and who sent them.

"Don't move," said Evrin, while his partner, Ker, kept his weapon trained on the two aliens.

"I'll give you something of value," said the Vulcan, "if you let us go."

"What's that?" said Evrin, neglecting to mention that there was nothing valuable enough for him to let them go.

"A data file with all the information we've got on your people," said the Vulcan, "and information on who hired us and why."

Oh, that data would be of interest to my superiors, thought Evrin.

"Give it to me, Vulcan."

The Vulcan moved her hands slowly to a fanny pack laying next to her on the ground, then unexpectedly, flipped it quickly towards Evrin.

The next few seconds felt like a slow motion ballet. The Vulcan bent her torso to cover and protect the human's face with her body, just as Evrin recognized the sudden hum of an overcharged phaser. Ker's hearing was not as sharp, but he was as wary as an old rat and he dived for cover as soon as he saw Evrin fall to the ground. The power cell exploded in mid-air several feet above the Happa and his ally, and the small ball of super-heated plasma set Ker's clothes on fire and singed his hair and skin quite badly. The Happa had been protected by his environmental suit and furiously, Evrin crawled over to pick up Ker's phaser rifle and slowly stood.

"Kill those fuckers, Evrin," said Ker, turning to watch the aliens die, despite the pain moving caused him.

Instead, Ker saw the tell tale glitter and sparkle as a transporter beam grabbed the aliens as well as his comrade, Evrin. A few seconds later, the firing stopped on the other side of the roof as well, and Ker knew their prey had escaped, and with that the Orion lost consciousness.


	17. Chapter 17

**—Chapter 17—**

As Trip regained consciousness he found himself in what looked like a semi-private alcove in a large Sick Bay, attended to by a dignified looking Vulcan.

"Ah, Commander Tucker, you are back with us, " said the Vulcan. "I am Doctor Velak."

"Doctor," said Trip, "where am I? How long have I been here?"

"You are aboard the Tal'Kir, Commander, and you've been here for three days."

"What's my condition?"

"You are in good shape now. We're headed for Vulcan, where you will spend another week or so in one of our hospitals. You will undergo some forced regeneration to heal the phaser burn wound in your side and our neurologists will give you the once over, make sure you will not suffer any permanent neural damage."

"I don't remember getting here."

"Given the physical damage you suffered, T'Pol made use of a novel method to bring you here, guided by the suggestions of a Lieutenant Reed. Seeing how badly you were injured, she bundled you back aboard the transporter and essentially carried you along in stasis, as an energy signature in the transporter buffer."

"Like the Happa."

"Precisely, Commander."

"Hmmm," said Trip. "I'm not sure how I feel about that, but I trust T'Pol."

"And she trusts you, Commander. As a matter of fact, she has been making a nuisance of herself in my Sick Bay, personally monitoring your progress a dozen times a day. I have come close to posting a guard at the door, but I understand her concern. That was a noble thing you and your fellow crew members did for the sake of Vulcan. I extend you my personal gratitude."

"I am a StarFleet officer, born to serve," said Trip, using the Vulcans own line at them—I am a Vulcan, born to serve—and chuckled at his witticism, though it pained him.

"I see T'Pol has had a positive influence on you," said the Doctor with a slight smile, "and speaking of the SubCommander…"

Trip turned to see T'Pol approaching the alcove and though her face was composed, he could have sworn he'd seen a brief flash of excitement when she realized he'd regained consciousness.

"Commander," said T'Pol.

"It's good to see you, Polly. I thought I was a dead man on that roof."

"We are no longer in Syndicate space, Commander Tucker. Call me Polly once more and you will indeed be a dead man."

Trip laughed, shifted his weight to move to the right and tapped the bed, and after a moment's hesitation T'Pol seated herself on the Commander's bed.

"How would you do it, SubCommander?"

"Strangulation," said T'Pol, raising her hands and wiggling her fingers towards the Commander.

"And Surak would not object to my cold blooded murder?"

"I believe Surak would forgive me. He is reputed to have been quite understanding, and you are being deliberately provocative."

"Ok, you've scared me straight, T'Pol. I'll not speak that name again… at least until I can defend myself."

Doctor Velak monitored the interaction between the two shipmates with a quiet interest as he fiddled around with Trip's bedside health monitor. He'd noticed the brief flash of emotion on the SubCommander's face as well, which he attributed to the danger these two had faced together recently, but the conversation between this human and T'Pol had a playful quality about it, something not typically Vulcan, save perhaps between long mated couples, yet he knew that T'Pol had only served aboard the Enterprise for a matter of months and he doubted the two were mated. Still, it was fascinating.

"I will leave you now, Commander Tucker. If you need anything, press that button," said Velak, motioning towards a red button built into the frame of his bed. "SubCommander, stay as long as you like. I get the feeling that this patient is the restless type. It will do him good to have some company."

"Thanks, Doc," said Trip.

Velak nodded and walked away after drawing closed a heavy curtain which effectively shut out the light and noise from the rest of the Sick Bay, leaving Trip and T'Pol alone, each looking at the other in the dim light coming from his bedside lamp.

"Malcolm got out ok?"

"He is fine, Commander. We have all earned a commendation on our records for this action, but I pressed both Soval and Captain Archer to see that Lieutenant Reed is awarded a medal for his bravery on the roof."

"I was kind of out of it, T'Pol. Explain."

"Lieutenant Reed deliberately drew the attention and the fire of the majority of our adversaries in the hope that it would buy you and I a few moments more, enough for Ensign Sato to beam us off that roof. His bravery bordered on the suicidal."

"Oh," said Trip. "I'll have to buy him a drink and thank him personally when he comes down here."

"They have all gone back to the Enterprise, Commander. I will be here with you while you heal, and then we have been given another ten days leave on Vulcan, so that you may recuperate fully."

"Doctor's orders?"

"Precisely. Although I suggested the idea to Doctor Velak. I hope you don't mind."

"Oh? You want to keep me a prisoner on Vulcan? I sense foul play, T'Pol."

"Nothing as sinister as that. You joined StarFleet in order to see new worlds and new civilizations. I thought you might enjoy getting to know my planet."

"Oh… I'd love that, T'Pol," said Trip. "You know, back there on that roof, when you covered me from the blast, I could have sworn your lips brushed mine."

"You are mistaken, Commander."

"You're sure, T'Pol? It seemed so real."

"I am positive, Commander," said T'Pol, as cool as a cucumber perched atop a mound of shaved ice.

"Ok," said Trip, then something caught his eye. "Hey, turn your head."

T'Pol did as asked and Trip saw that the neural whip was still attached.

"What's with the whip? Did Velak have trouble removing it?"

"No," said T'Pol, after a moment's hesitation. "The High Command wants it, in case they run another operation into Syndicate space, but I have been putting Doctor Velak off. I told him the High Command might wish us to conduct one last experiment before my neural whip is removed."

"Oh?"

"Yes, Commander. We never finished our last experiment."

"Are you saying what I think you're saying, old girl?"

T'Pol raised a brow, and said, "Old girl?"

"Well, we can take it for granted that you're a hundred and twenty to a hundred and fifty years older than me," said Trip with a wicked smile, "so I thought old girl sounded most appro—"

"I am nowhere close to that old, Commander."

"So how old are you, T'Pol?

"Do you really want to know my age," said T'Pol, drawing the base unit from her pocket, "or would your rather experiment with the neural whip one last time before they remove it?"

"Give it to me, T'Pol!"

T'Pol was gratified by the Commander's eagerness. She'd been afraid that he considered that episode a trivial matter and had steeled herself to betray no disappointment if he declined to take her up on her offer. Still, to tease the Commander a bit…

"I take it that you are talking about the base unit, Commander?"

"Am I? It's cute that you think that, SubCommander," said Trip, as he slipped on his base unit.

T'Pol blinked once, twice, then three more times in rapid succession, as she'd done not long ago. How did this man fluster her so easily? The answer to that question would have to come at another time, for as T'Pol felt the Commander's lips on her neck, and his hands on her breasts, all logic escaped her.

"Oh, Surak," was T'Pol's last coherent thought as she felt herself pushed against a wall now and her lips devoured by the Commander's lips, all while the man shamelessly caressed her ears with a touch that was both fierce and gentle, only to then slide his hands down to the small of her back and then lower still, "this man could teach an octopus to multi-task its tentacles, so, surely it is logical that I am attracted to him, if only in the slightest."


	18. Chapter 18

**—Chapter 18—**

A month after he, Hoshi and Travis had returned from Syndicate space, and two weeks after the return of Trip and T'Pol from Vulcan, Lieutenant Malcolm Reed was just getting ready for bed when his desktop monitor flickered to life, displaying the face of a man Malcolm had no desire to see.

"Harris, you bloody arsehole," said Malcolm, "I don't work for you any longer, so get lost."

Harris laughed. He was used to this sort of response when he reached out to retired agents, or rather those who considered themselves retired. No one left Section 31. Once in, you were in for life.

"It's good to see you too, Malcolm, you silly muppet," said Harris.

"I know one way to shut you off, you prick," said Malcolm, reaching for the power cord.

"Before you do that," said Harris sharply, "you might want to know that people have already died, and will likely continue to die, something which you might have prevented from happening, Reed."

Malcolm breathed a heavy sigh, sat himself facing the monitor, and said, "Tell me about it."

* * *

The next morning, Captain Archer called the senior staff to the Captain's Mess, for a working breakfast, which meant Trip, T'Pol, Malcolm and Doctor Phlox, as Phlox was the head of Medical, even though he only had a staff of two nurses.

They made small talk while the food was passed around. Eggs, bacon, hash browns and a basket of Chef's cheddar and buttermilk biscuits for Archer and Malcom. French roast coffee and a huge Belgian waffle with whipped cream and a drizzle of vanilla and orange liquor for Phlox, hot tea and a warm rice pudding topped with cinnamon and brown sugar for T'Pol and a jackfruit smoothie paired with a Vietnamese banh mi lemongrass pork sandwich for Trip.

"I'll be brief," said Archer, sliding a PADD, a Personal Access Display Device, to Trip and another to Malcolm. "We will rendezvous with the Vulcan battle cruiser Volares tomorrow morning. Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed will participate in a joint mission with the Vulcans."

"What type of mission?" said T'Pol.

"I have no idea, SubCommander. Perhaps Trip or Malcolm will enlighten us," said the captain.

Trip tapped the touch screen of the PADD unit, entered his personal access code and read his orders.

"Can't help you, Captain. I am ordered to accompany Lieutenant Reed on this mission. He has tactical authority, which supersedes my rank, effectively immediately. If you want to know anything, ask my boss," said Trip, grinning at Malcolm.

"What the hell," said Archer, and looked at Malcolm, who was reading his orders.

"Sorry, Captain," said Malcolm. "Need to know basis only."

Archer didn't like it, but he didn't have to. It was just a way of life in the structured environment that was StarFleet.

"Given that there seems to be some Vulcan involvement in this mission," said T'Pol, making eye contact with Trip briefly, "perhaps I should go along, Captain. I could contact the High Command and ask."

"No, I need you here," said Archer. "I'm losing two senior officers to this mission, I can't lose my second in command as well, T'Pol. You're even proving to be an asset in Engineering and with Trip gone…"

The Captain's logic was sound, thought T'Pol, and said, "Yes, Captain."

"Doctor," said Archer, "after breakfast I'll need you to give both men a quick once over. Make sure there's nothing medical they need to worry about."

Phlox nodded amiably and said, "Yes, Captain."

"You two are officially relieved of duty for the rest of the day," said Archer, looking first at Malcolm, then Trip, "after you speak to your departments, speak to your replacements, and make it a smooth transfer."

"Yes, sir," said Malcolm, and Trip nodded towards the captain.

They moved on to the day's business next, and then to social chatter, save for T'Pol, who remained unusually quiet, though she occasionally raised her eyes from her food in order to spare a glance for Commander Tucker.

* * *

The day moved slowly for T'Pol, hounded as she was by a growing sense of dread over the Commander's away mission with the Lieutenant. It was illogical, yet it was undeniable. The SubCommander's brooding was eventually interrupted by an Ensign from Engineering who came by to drop off the Readiness Reports for the Captain in his Ready Room. On his way out he discreetly passed by T'Pol's station and laid down a folded and sealed note. No one noticed, but Hoshi. She'd noticed a lot of note passing from the assorted Engineering weenies to T'Pol and suspected that the source of those notes was Commander Tucker.

T'Pol unfolded the note. The drawing was clearly a depiction of her, if an odd one. The face was recognizably her's, but her torso was a rectangular brownie with a mini pecan pie heart, her arms and legs mere lines, her hands and her feet square blocks of mochi. Beneath that was written, "Now you see yourself through my eyes, SubCommander. I'm starving. If you can't break away for lunch now, I will come for you on the Bridge, because I need my sugar fix. The Captain will be outraged, the Bridge crew stunned, the High Command scandalized. Move swiftly, SubCommander, or suffer embarrassment."

"Captain," said T'Pol, standing. "If you have no objection, I'll break for lunch now."

"Go ahead, SubCommander," said Archer. "I have the conn."

"Thank you," said T'Pol and a moment later reached out for Commander Tucker's quarters from the elevator's comm unit. "I'm headed for the Mess Hall, Commander."

"Roger."

"No, it's me, T'Pol."

"Err… Forget it, I'll explain later. See you there, T'Pol."

Trip and T'Pol made it a point to eat a late lunch usually, T'Pol because she didn't like to eat in a packed and noisy Mess Hall, Trip because fewer people meant fewer interruption of people wishing to speak with him, and so interfere during his time with T'Pol.

"What did you get, T'Pol?" said Trip as he set his tray next to T'Pol.

"A human soup from your Earth's South-East Asia. Clear vegetable broth, rice noodles, some vegetables, tofu, and some thin seaweed strips. You? What is that?"

"Four beer battered fried cod fillets, fries, coleslaw and hush-puppies."

"Hush-puppies?" said T'Pol, clearly surprised. "You are eating canine meat?"

"T'Pol—"

"Is it Porthos?" said T'Pol, her voice lowered to a conspiratorial level. "The Captain will be furious with you when he finds out what you have done, but I have never cared for Porthos. Nothing personal, he is a fine canine, but his scent over-powers my olfactory sense."

"No, T'Pol," said Trip, "it's just a funny name for a certain food. Besides, I like Porthos."

"Yes, me too," said T'Pol. "He is great."

Trip looked at T'Pol for a few moments longer, uncertain if she was putting him on, or not. It wouldn't be something a normal Vulcan would do, but T'Pol had picked up some of his bad habits, and her dry delivery often ensured that her jokes called for a lot of did she? or didn't she? mean to make that joke.

"And I got us a giant piece of Red Velvet cheesecake to share," said Trip, continuing on, pointing out the sweet treat on his tray.

"I have never eaten cake made of cheese," said T'Pol. "It sounds strange. I will pass on it."

"You will have some and you'll love it, T'Pol, or I will make a scene, here and now."

There were only five or six people still in the Mess Hall, but apparently the Commander's threat carried some weight with T'Pol.

"Very well," said T'Pol. "I will have a bite."

"That's my girl," said Trip, and T'Pol blushed slightly.

"Is that what I am, Commander?"

"That is precisely what you are, T'Pol. Now if you dispute my admittedly highly controversial statement, I can lay out my arguments and you may subject my logic to the strictest of reviews. If you come to believe my logic has faltered, I stand ready to defend my position, point by point."

T'Pol considered the Commander's words and said, "There is no need for that. Your logic is unassailable, Commander, and your conclusion is essentially correct."

They ate silently for the next few minutes, save for a few groans of pleasure emanating from Commander Tucker, until T'Pol spoke.

"Since you say I am your girl, may I be frank with you, Commander?"

"Always, T'Pol. What's on your mind?"

"I have a bad feeling about this mission of yours, Commander. It is illogical, but it is nevertheless true," said T'Pol. "Accordingly, I would like to taste you, before you leave."

"Taste me?" said Trip, a silly grin pasted on his face. "You want to taste me, T'Pol?"

"It is an indirect way of saying I would like to have sexual intercourse with you, Commander."

"Is it because of this feeling you have? You're afraid that I might not make it back?"

"Maybe. I do not know. I am not entirely driven by logic where you are concerned, Commander."

"That is so hot, T'Pol," said Trip, laughing.

"And so, Commander? Your answer?"

"I stand ready to obey your orders, SubCommander."

"As you did with Misri?" said T'Pol.

The SubCommander was still stung by memories of that Orion temptress, stung by how close the Orion had come to shattering Commander Tucker's innocence forever with her sex worker's tricks, for Misri's shameless sexual aggression on Commander Tucker was not appreciated by T'Pol.

"As I recall, you were the one that ordered me into her arms, SubCommander."

"And if I ordered you to my quarters tonight at 19:00 hours?"

"I would obey my superior officer, T'Pol."

"With a snack for us to share?"

"Certainly. I'm not an animal, SubCommander."

They turned their attention to their food, and ate their entrees in agreeable silence, then shared the Red Velvet cheesecake, which T'Pol enjoyed despite her initial doubts.

Finally, T'Pol stood, and said, "I have to return to the Bridge now. You have your orders, Commander Tucker. 19:00 hours."

"Sir, yes, sir!"

* * *

The door chime to T'Pol quarters sounded, and T'Pol said, "Enter."

She was expecting Commander Tucker, along with the two take out meals he'd specially requested from the Galley, but not quite yet. The Commander was early. Still, T'Pol was pleased to see the Commander early, for it at least implied his eagerness.

Trip entered to find the Vulcan in an ankle length silk kimono, a white towel wrapped comically around her head in a silly turban.

"You must learn patience, Commander. I am not ready yet. I look a mess."

"You look sexy," said Trip with a kiss, and then a glance at T'Pol's turban, "and I'll request that the Captain make that turban a mandatory part of your uniform from this day on, most especially on days we're to host distinguished Vulcan visitors."

"Do not even joke like that, Commander. I would be shamed, and then I would be honor bound to commit ritual suicide, for on Vulcan, only blood washes away dishonor. Is that what you want? Is that how much you hate me, Commander Tucker?"

Trip laughed and said, "I don't hate you, T'Pol, and I'd never want you to commit ritual suicide, SubCommander."

"Where is our food, Commander Tucker? If you expect my best this evening, I will need to carbo load. You promised me Chef's Black Fire Morel Linguine. I also wished to sample your new obsession, before we get down to personal business."

The obsession T'Pol was speaking of was a refocussing of the Commander's sugar addiction, which he was constantly refining and expanding upon. Though his favorite treat was still pecan pie, with brownies a close second, he had recently added mochi to that list, a small rice cake made of pounded glutinous rice, usually stuffed with a sweet paste, and the Commander had promised T'Pol some matcha flavored mochi as advance payment for a heart stopping performance from her this night.

"Yeah… About that, T'Pol," said Trip, looking away, "I'm sorry, that personal business can't happen."

T'Pol's heart stilled. Surely the man had not had a change of heart. Surely not that!

"Commander?" said T'Pol, shyly looking at Trip, willing the man to face her.

"T'Pol, the Volares arrived early," said Trip, and T'Pol sighed audibly, relieved that her worst fears were not realized, "and given your people's norms I did not think it proper to ask for them to wait 'till tomorrow, so that the respected SubCommander T'Pol could taste, at her leisure, the vulnerable and sensitive warrior/poet, Trip Tucker. I have fifteen minutes to report to the Shuttle Bay, so I stopped by to say good-bye, unless you think that I can and should ask the Volares to wait 'till tomorrow, in your name. If you believe it permissible to ask for that extension, you but have to command it!"

"You most assuredly will not ask any such thing, Commander," said T'Pol sternly, "for then the High Command will rightly assume that I have taken leave of my senses and have me dragged, kicking and screaming, off the Enterprise, forever. Is that how you would get rid of me? Is that what you want, Commander?"

"No, I don't want that, T'Pol," said Trip with a soothing kiss, "because I've moved you to the top of my treats list. Speaking of which, I cancelled my entree order for tonight, but asked Chef to prepare yours in thirty minutes. He's also to give you our mochi in a take-out box. Since you haven't eaten yet, hit the Mess Hall after I leave. No reason those tasty wild morels should go to waste."

"Very well. I will keep your mochi until you get back, and—"

"No," said Trip. "Once a day, eat a mochi with your tea, think of me, and hope I make it back. Then I'll show you what a human means when he says he wants to taste you."

"I will do as you ask, where the mochi is concerned. As for the other, I am afraid to even ask. I have read that humans have practiced cannibalism now and then, in their past, Commander."

"They have indeed, SubCommander, and I've long suspected that Vulcan flesh might be the sweetest of all," said Trip, before sinking his teeth into T'Pol and growling in mock savagery.

The pain was negligible to the Vulcan, but the pleasure was not. She drew back the Commander's face from her neck by gently pulling on his hair, and did so in order to shove her tongue into his mouth, where their tongues wrestled a pleasant match in the human manner of kissing she had learned from him, and which she found most agreeable despite her initial misgivings.

* * *

As T'Pol looked out the porthole at the Volares, lost in her thoughts and feeling forlorn, Chef approached her table, and said, "I know you've had my pasta before, SubCommander, but what did you think of the Black Fire Morels?"

He had come to personally deliver the box of mochi Commander Tucker had requested. Until tonight he had been unsure if the rumors of a romantic tryst between the Chief Engineer and the Vulcan SubCommander were true, but two carry out dinners, whittled to one now that the Commander was leaving the Enterprise, yet the SubCommander ate the other entree and would now take the mochi… Well, Chef was no fool.

Not that it mattered to him. He was quite fond of the Chief Engineer. They spoke often during odd moments, and the man was a talented cook in his own right, so they had that in common. What sealed the deal, as far as Chef was concerned, was the time he'd shared with the Commander his pain at the absence of a proper stir-frying station for his kitchen.

The next day, mind you, not the next week, the Commander stamped out three 16 inch woks from sheets of carbon steel, melted iron and cast three large burners, placed them in a custom made stainless steel cabinet and topped it all off by installing three industrial strength fans to draw up the smoke and filter out the contaminants before returning the clean, scrubbed air to the kitchen. Each burner put out from 50 – 200,000BTU of heat and sounded like a jet engine warming up. Add to that the noise of the fans and it sounded like a Klingon battle cruiser was landing in the Kitchen, but Chef didn't care. He'd never known such joy, and it was all due to the Commander.

"They were delicious, Chef," said T'Pol. "Someone recently made a wild mushroom soup for me, and I've developed something of a appetite for them."

"Yeah, Commander Tucker makes a great wild mushroom soup. I've had it. He's already boarded the Volares?" said Chef, looking through the porthole at the impressive Vulcan battle cruiser which dwarfed the Enterprise.

"Yes, Chef."

"Beautiful ship. What are they waiting for, SubCommander?"

"It's customary to do a short safety check after a long run at maximum speed," said T'Pol, "and they must have pushed the envelope to get here ten hours early."

"I see," said Chef. "Anyway, here's the box of mochi the Commander requested for your pleasure. I hope you like them, SubCommander."

"I am quite certain that I will, Chef. Thank you. It was kind of you to make them."

"It was my pleasure, SubCommander."

Once Chef left the Mess Hall, T'Pol stepped up the beverage dispenser. In honor of the Commander, she decided to have his drink, only hot, instead of iced as the Commander preferred.

"Tall Ceylon black tea. Hot. One rounded teaspoon of coconut sugar and a dash of cardamom powder."

A moment later, she opened the wooden box which Chef had left with her, to find nine mochi, separated from each other by thin wooden slats. It was her first look at a mochi, and she found the semi-translucent squares of rice cake, which partially revealed the green core of sweet matcha paste, quite attractive. She took a bite and savored the clean taste, only to chase it down with a sip of Ceylon tea. Heaven itself.

Just then, the Vorlana powered up its engines and in a streak of light departed from view of the Enterprise at warp speed. T'Pol sighed, as close to depressed as any self-respecting logical Vulcan would ever admit to being. She had a bad feeling about this all and wished she could have accompanied Commander Tucker, on this mission. He was a most efficient engineer after all, and ran his department with admirable…

'Oh, Surak,' she thought, 'I'm too despondent tonight to even pretend that I am merely conducting an experiment with Trip.'

She thought of the man and the changes he had wrought in her emotional landscape, thought of the dread feeling in the pit of her stomach, and could only offer a silent prayer for him.

'Be safe, ashayam, and return to me, I beg of thee.'


	19. Chapter 19

**—Chapter 19—**

The Vorlana was just as impressive from the inside as from the outside. Compared to the Enterprise, the hallways looked like freeways, the rooms like shuttle hangars. Where humans preferred pools of light and shadow, Vulcans seemed to prefer an overall level of fairly bright light, coming from the entire ceiling. That probably made some kind of sense, for it duplicated the pattern of light falling on Vulcan. Most interesting of all was the actual construction of the Vorlana, for where a human ship was clearly a functional machine with touches of artistry here and there, the Vorlana looked as if the Vulcans wedded art and science in order to create functional art.

"For your convenience," said T'Avala, the Ensign assigned to attend to the humans during their stay on the Volares, "you have adjoining suites. The Captain asks that you join him for dinner in an hour."

"Thank you, T'Avala," said Malcolm. "We'd be honored."

Trip said nothing. He'd been moody since leaving the Enterprise, enough so that Malcolm had noticed the change in the usually chipper Chief Engineer. Now Malcolm noticed T'Avala looking intently at Trip.

'Oh, brother,' thought Malcolm. 'Here we go again. I swear, Trip's got a gift with alien hotties. Lucky sod.'

Apparently on the verge of leaving, T'Avala changed her mind and said, "Commander Tucker, may I speak with you privately for a moment?"

That Trip was surprised by the request was apparent, but there seemed no harm in it.

"Sure, T'Avala. Where would you like to speak?"

"Your suite is fine, Commander. I'll only take a few minutes of your time."

Trip waved his assigned key card at the reader and once the door popped open, motioned that T'Avala should precede him through it. He made brief eye contact with Malcolm and a look of mild confusion passed from one to the other, then Malcolm gave Trip a perverted grin and a thumbs up. Trip shook his head, gave Malcolm a slight wave and stepped inside.

"It's a beautiful suite, T'Avala," said Trip, looking around. "Huge by our standards. I'll have to thank the Captain for it. What is his name?"

"The current captain of the Volares is Tavven."

"I see a stasis box there," said Trip looking around the suite and coming to land on a small dining area. "May I offer you something from it?"

"No, thank you, Commander. Feel free to grab something for yourself. You'll find an assortment of juices, teas and human iced coffee as well as an assortment of prepared foods and snacks."

"That sounds good," said Trip. "Let's sit at the table, and I'll get a coffee."

T'Avala moved for the table and Trip couldn't help but notice her grace. This one was a dancer, or perhaps a martial artist. He couldn't help but compare T'Avala to T'Pol, but that only deepened his unhappiness. He wanted to be back on Enterprise, with her, rather than on some hare-brained scheme concocted between the High Command and StarFleet.

They sat at the table, and Trip looked at T'Avala, patiently giving her the time she needed to begin.

"Do you have a lot of contact with Vulcans, Commander?" said T'Avala. "I ask because I know we have a good number of personnel at StarFleet Headquarters."

"I've met quite a few Vulcans in the past two years, T'Avala, if I add up diplomatic contacts, technical consultations with some of your engineers and assorted conferences, as well as random meetings at StarFleet HQ."

"Are you personally close to any of them, Commander?"

"Why do you ask?" said Trip, suddenly wary.

"Are you aware of our privacy codes, Commander?"

"Just in general. You draw a sharp line between private and public information and prefer to keep them separate."

"You are correct. In this case, concerning the conversation we are about to have, I wish to give you some information. I will never discuss our conversation with another person, human or Vulcan. I will never investigate the matter in order to confirm or deny my suspicions and if such information ever comes to light, I will never discuss that information with any other person, human or Vulcan. In short, this conversation will remain private between you and I, unless you choose to share its contents."

"Sounds serious, T'Avala," said Trip. "Go on."

"Are you aware that you have the beginnings of a tel, Commander?"

"Tel," said Trip. "Ok, what is that?"

"A tel is a mating bond, Commander, between two Vulcans. Something like your human institution of marriage, but much more permanent, for there is a psychic component to it, which makes divorce an impossibility."

Trip's heart began racing, but he said, "And yet I'm clearly not a Vulcan."

"That's true," said T'Avala. "And I find it fascinating. Apparently, your species was not a limitation in the formation of a tel, with, I suspect, the prim and proper SubCommander T'Pol."

Trip's heart was beating like a drum now.

"You know T'Pol?"

"Just slightly, Commander. We attended several classes together at the Vulcan Science Academy and our relations were cordial. It pleases me that she has found her mate."

"You knew she was aboard the Enterprise. Why ask about other Vulcans if you knew it was T'Pol?"

"I did not know, it was T'Pol. I only made a logical deduction, Commander Tucker. The tel is in its infancy and T'Pol only began her service aboard the Enterprise a short number of months ago. The data lined up."

Trip took a few moments to digest the information, then said, "How do you know of the existence of this tel between T'Pol and I? If it truly exists, that is."

"My psi ratings are through the roof, to use your vernacular, Commander Tucker. Officially, such talents are frowned upon, but the High Command likes to keep us around. We can be useful now and then, and of course psionic talents are widely spread through the population, to a greater or lessor degree."

"And these talents allow you to sense the formation of this Bond?"

"Among other things, Commander."

"How common is this talent? Will every Vulcan I meet be able to discern this fact?"

"Oh, no. The vast majority will sense nothing, though they can make logical deductions by observing your behavior, that is, your behavior and that of the SubCommander in relation to each other. The existence of a Bond is very difficult to conceal."

"I see," said Trip. "Why didn't T'Pol tell me of this tel herself?"

"I can not say, Commander, but it is likely she is not even aware of it herself. Among Vulcans, it is the female which first feels the effects of the Bond, even if subconsciously, while the male is the first to truly understand the nature of the Bond and the art of manipulating it."

"Is there a way to stop this Bond from growing further?"

For once Trip had the pleasure of stunning a Vulcan other than T'Pol, for T'Avala's eyes widened and her face paled, before she said, "Why would you want to do that, Commander? The Bond is a wonderful thing."

"You said T'Pol is likely not even aware of the existence of this Bond. What if she doesn't want to be Bonded to a human?"

"Oh," said T'Avala, relieved, for she had begun to think the human mad for wanting to suffocate a Bond, and that would have been a shame, for she rather liked him. "You need not concern yourself with that, Commander. No one may be Bound against their will. Technically it would be possible, but it would require mind-priests to force the two minds into alignment and then force to secure the Bond. That has not been done since the coming of Surak, and only rarely before that, usually for political reasons. No, Commander, you both desired the Bond, for it was the two of you who gave it life."

"I see," said Trip. "Vulcans have had space-flight for quite a while. How often have your people Bonded with aliens?"

"As far as I know, you and T'Pol are the first such couple, Commander. It may be that your species is unique in being able to form a tel with a Vulcan. Even more auspicious, it may just be you, yourself, Commander. You and T'Pol may be soul-mates."

"You're putting me on, right?"

"Putting you on, Commander?"

"Teasing me, T'Avala."

"Not at all, Commander. Vulcans believe that soul-mates go through the life-stream of Eternity, parted at the beginning, always trying to find the other, usually denied the other for a long, long time, until at long last, they find each other. Once their Bond is truly complete, they need never be parted again, and glide into Eternity as one, always growing, always reinventing themselves in subsequent lives and finer and still finer forms, but always together."

"And you think T'Pol is my soul-mate?"

"That I can not say. I only bring it up since a Vulcan joining with an alien in a tel is unusual enough that it has never happened in recorded history. Only you will truly know. But I can give you a clue, Commander."

"Which is?"

"If you are truly soul-mates she will not be parted from you, nor you from her, for the rest of your lives. If the High Command ever finds out about you two, I believe they will interfere and order her off the Enterprise. If they do, she will resign her commission without a second's hesitation, and even turn her back on Vulcan if that is required, for she will never turn her back on you, Commander."

"How does that differ from a normal Bonded couple? I would assume that is a very strong tie as well, no?"

"The lines are blurred, Commander, for normal Bonded couples may discover after many years together that they were indeed soul-mates all along, but the division line seems to be this: while a Bonded couple knows that the Bond can never be severed, they can choose to remain apart, if family, culture or other serious obstacles stand between them. It is difficult, but they can do it. Soul-mates can not, or rather will not. Only the other matters. Nothing else."


	20. Chapter 20

**—Chapter 20—**

The Vulcans of the Volares were surprisingly accommodating of Trip and Malcolm during their three day trip and T'Avala later informed them that a number of the Vulcans which the Enterprise had rescued from the Orion slavers had spoken publicly of the courage and willingness of the crew to place themselves in harm's way for another. That kind of praise held a great deal of importance on Vulcan and the crew of the Volares considered it an honor to host two of the senior officers from that ship. They were however, unable to enlighten them as to their mission, for the Volares was merely transporting the two to Earth.

Malcolm regaled the crew of the Volares with the story of the rescue several times, at their request, then spent the rest of that time with several of the Vulcan marines serving aboard the battle cruiser. He was fascinated with some of the martial ways retained from the Old Vulcan when Vulcan was awash in blood, and counted the bruises he received in training with these Vulcans a small price to pay for a glimpse of such a world.

Trip spent some time speaking with some of the Volares' engineers and found the intellectual exchange quite gratifying, some of the time questioning T'Avala in more detail of the intricacies of the Bond, until he was confident that he knew enough to understand the process to some extent. Much of the rest of the time he spent on his bed, watching the stars go by as streaks of light, as his mind wandered to the one truly on his mind.

For her part, T'Pol buried herself in her duties, those same three days. She worked her day shift on the Bridge, then spent the next six hours or so in Engineering, where her help was appreciated, for Trip's crew was determined that their Commander should find no fault in the manner in which they had carried out their duties. Then, late at night, she'd head for the Mess Hall after picking up her tray of mochi from her quarters. She'd eat a lone mochi while sipping on a cup of tea and finally go to bed. The brutal schedule demanded enough of her energy that she only thought of Trip a couple dozen times a day and an hour or so at night before she'd finally drift to sleep, but that hour was the hardest of the day.

* * *

The fourth day saw Trip and Malcolm home, as the Volares assumed orbit around Earth and soon a Vulcan shuttle delivered them to their destination in San Francisco, but that destination was not StarFleet HQ, but rather the Vulcan Embassy. Ushered into a private conference room they were left alone.

Malcolm grinned at the large mirror on wall. He knew the drill. Even though they were on the same side with the Vulcans, they'd been left here, under observation, for any number of reasons, such as intimidation, information gathering, psychological interpretation of their behavior, or just as likely for no reason at all but to screw with them. Normal Vulcans wouldn't pull this crap, but these were spooks on some level or other, but unfortunately for them, Malcolm knew the game.

To the Vulcans watching him, it was clear that this human wasn't going to spill any beans, for it was clear that he was playing with them when he stepped up to the mirror and wrote, 'Get me out of here! I'm Ambassador Soval's round eared son!' in erasable marker.

Trip was an even worse subject. He took a seat on one of the couches lining the wall, chose a spot on the opposite wall on which to focus his attention, and thought of T'Pol and thought of the things of which T'Avala had spoken, for T'Avala was Bonded and had insights into the matter, which was something neither Trip nor T'Pol could claim. More importantly still, T'Avala's mate, Kellan, also served on the Volares and made some time to speak with Trip and guide him in the aspects of the Bond that were squarely in the male sphere. Trip thought back to one of those particular conversations which convinced him that this Bond thing was for real, and not a mind game played by T'Avala.

"I will assume that the course of your tel will follow a traditional Vulcan course. Since you and T'Pol have given life to a Bond it is logical to make that assumption, but stay alert, for it may differ some from the norm, due to your species."

"Yes, Kellan."

"Now, your end of the Bond will awaken first," said Kellan, "and you will begin to notice strange things happening, in relation to T'Pol."

"Strange?"

"Perhaps that was too strong a word. Let us say odd. For example, when my end of the Bond began to awaken and became active, I could always tell when T'Avala was near and even more so if she was thinking of me while approaching me."

"I've had that happen, Kellan! I feel T'Pol nearby, I greet her before I see her. She's convinced I've got super-hearing, or that I've planted a tracker on her."

Kellan nodded, and said, "Yes, exactly so. Anything else you can think of? If you can not think of anything it is likely you just haven't noticed, but you will now that you are alert to the possibility."

"Lately, I've opened the comm several times just as T'Pol has activated her end. Before she's spoken, I've said, "Yes, T'Pol." I couldn't explain it, so I played it off, but T'Pol was certain I was messing with her. She absolutely tore apart the comm unit installed in her Bridge station twice, but never found anything because I didn't do anything."

Kellan laughed a bit at that, which for a Vulcan was equivalent to a roaring belly laugh, and said, "I wish I could have seen that. T'Avala will enjoy that story, since she knows T'Pol. Anything else?"

"Well, this is not the same thing, but I've always been able to read her moods, almost from the first day, when most humans aboard the Enterprise could not, but there's no way we had an instant tel, Kellan."

"T'Avala is a bit of a romantic, but if there's any truth to the soul-mates theory, you would have had a large head start on your tel. You would already have been reaching out for her, and she for you, from the instant you met. Needless to say, that theory has not been proven yet, so don't take it as fact."

"Ok, what else do I need to know, Kellan?"

"Have you coupled with T'Pol yet?"

Normally this direct a question concerning T'Pol would have embarrassed Trip a bit, but he was too excited by Kellan's information to allow that to happen.

"Hmmm. Does it count if I did so in my imagination?" said Trip, not wanting to get into the story of the neural whip.

"In your imagination?" said Kellan, and chuckled again. For a Vulcan he was a remarkably jolly fellow. "No, Commander. Have you coupled with T'Pol physically?"

"No, but she actually suggested we, ahh, couple, before I left the Enterprise on this mission. She seemed quite eager and I felt the same. If the Volares had not arrived ten hours early, it would have happened already."

"That is because she senses subconsciously that your end of the Bond will fully awaken during your coupling," said Kellan, "and you will then help awaken her end of it."

"What, the first time, Kellan?"

"First or second is fairly common, but the sweet spot seems to be on the third to fifth time. The key here is not to fixate on the number, Commander Tucker, for your species may alter that probability."

"Right. What else?"

The hiss of the conference room's door sliding aside snapped Trip out of his reverie. Soval stepped through, followed by two military types. The Ambassador took note of Malcolm's writing on the mirror.

"You were not under observation," said Soval. "This is simply the most secure conference room we have."

Malcolm smiled. They may not have had a purpose to observe them, but someone was back there watching them. He could always feel a pair of eyes on him and it had saved his life several times.

"Actually, we were being observed, Ambassador," said Malcolm, "but I don't believe there was any malice in the act."

"SubCommander Tumak?" said Soval, looking at the taller of the two men with him.

"They were observed, Soval," said Tumak, looking at Malcolm with interest in his eyes. "It is standard policy to keep this room secure, though the Lieutenant was correct. There was no malice in the act."

"Apologies, Lieutenant Reed," said Soval. "It seems you were correct."

"It's nothing, Ambassador."

Soval nodded and said, "Please, join me at the table."

Moments later all five men were seated at the table and SubCommander Tumak slid a folder to each man.

"If you'll open your folder," said Tumak, "we will discuss the purpose of this meeting."

They all followed Tumak's suggestion and Trip's heart froze when he looked at the photo which was pasted on the inside cover. It was Ke'Relle. Malcolm looked at Trip, but said nothing.

"We understand this person was rescued from the wreckage of the ship, Sultara," said Tumak, "by the Enterprise."

He looked at the humans for confirmation. The one named Lieutenant Reed confirmed that fact, but the other human just looked stone-faced at his folder, saying nothing.

"In any case, we have taken a great deal of interest in her," said Tumak. "Still, other than her location, we don't know much about her, and even finding her called for a massive effort. As you are the only people we can find that have had even the slightest contact with her, you are here to assist in her capture and unravel her motivations."

"What about the crew of the Sultara?" said Malcolm. "They've probably had more contact with her than us."

"Unfortunately we can not locate them. Since the ship was destroyed by the Orions and not worth the cost of salvage, she was abandoned. The crew and captain found other ships, but there is no central registry of such men and such movements, for they happen too often."

"Why do you want her," said Trip, speaking his first words since entering that room.

"She has killed three men, and we believe she will kill more," said Tumak.

"You have proof of that?" said Trip, raising his eyes for the first time since he'd seen Ke'Relle's photo, to look at Tumak.

"A dozen witnesses, more or less, plus audio-video feed from three cameras. You can review the audio-video feed now, and I can bring the witnesses in later today if you question my veracity."

"I do not," said Trip, heart-sick.

He knew the Vulcans did not like to lie as a matter of principle and would not openly lie to StarFleet personnel over something so easily verified.

"Who were these men?" said Trip.

"Human scientists," said Tumak. "Men of sufficient IQ and education that they will be difficult to replace in their former posts. Subcontractors, working indirectly for StarFleet."

"In what capacity?" said Trip.

"You are not cleared to have that information," said Tumak. "Need to know, Commander Tucker."

"If we know the type of work they did, we can look for a reason why they were killed, SubCommander," said Trip.

"They worked in weapons design, military vessel design and the integration of said weapons on said ships," said Malcolm. "I'm guessing."

Tumak looked at Malcolm with new eyes. He had wondered why StarFleet would select such a junior officer to be their representative, or why he was put in charge of a Commander who seemed to ask intelligent questions in his own right. Now he had his own questions about Lieutenant Reed and no doubt Vulcan Intelligence would soon open a file on the man. What Tumak didn't know was that Vulcan Intelligence had already done so, and had shit to show for it.

"So why are we here?" said Trip, looking at Soval and then Tumak. "I believe you have the operatives to capture Ke'Relle on hand, no?"

"We do," said Tumak, "but we hope some friendly faces will convince this Ke'Relle to surrender peacefully."

"You know where she is now?"

"Yes," said Tumak. "We've held off moving in on her because we believe she will resist forcefully, which will necessitate that we act vigorously on our own behalf and we would rather take her alive."

"Right. I know you want to interrogate her, force a series of mind-melds on her," said Trip, "but after that what? Execute her? Imprison her?"

"That depends on who gets final custody of her, Commander," said Soval. "I suspect Earth government will want to take custody of her. If they do, you would be more familiar with the customary punishment."

"And if Vulcan takes custody of her?"

"We would mind-wipe her, Commander. It would probably damage her to some degree, but she could live out a simple life afterwards."

"And if she won't surrender?"

"Then we are going to kill her," said Tumak.

"I don't want to this," said Trip, looking at Soval, "but I'll do it on one condition."

"Which is?" said Soval.

"StarFleet is eager to continue their association with Vulcan, as is the Earth government. You have the leverage to assure that if we capture her, Vulcan gains custody of her. After you mind-wipe her, you give Ke'Relle to me with a new Vulcan identity."

"For what purpose, Commander?" said Soval, as surprised as every other man in that room.

"She can go live with my parents. They won't know what she's done. They're both kind people and if she'll be as damaged as you say, they'll take care of her, and love her like a daughter. I have siblings, and they'll take to Ke'Relle as well."

"What is your motivation in this matter, Commander?" said Soval, looking at Trip as if seeing him for the first time.

"She is a friend, and it pains me, what she has done, and what you have planned for her."

"Just that?" said Tumak.

"Just that," said Trip.

Tumak turned to Soval and said, "This Ke'Relle is quite attractive. Forgive me if I sound skeptical, Soval, but I am not certain that I trust the purity of Commander Tucker's intentions."

"Don't tell me you care what happens to her, Tumak. You want her dead, or you want her brain-dead. But as it turns out, I have a mate," said Trip, and Malcolm looked at the Commander, only his training keeping Reed's surprise from showing, "and although she's a sweet thing, she'd got a jealous streak a mile wide, though she'd never admit it. She'd kill me, before she'd share me with another. I swear it, Ke'Relle would be like a sister to me and Soval could discreetly monitor her treatment by my family."

"I honor your sentiment, Commander. I have heard of your courage, and now I see in you things that speak well for your humanity. I will make your case to my superiors, that it be handled your way."

"No, we take a simpler way," said Malcolm. "SubCommander Tumak and his silent partner here are not Vulcan Navy. They know how to deal with problems, and they know how to make a deal. They can declare that Ke'Relle was killed resisting apprehension, interrogate her to their satisfaction and then release her into the custody of Commander Tucker's parents."

"You are the official representative of StarFleet," said Tumak. "You could use that information to blackmail us at a later time."

"How could I blackmail you, SubCommander, if this is my idea? I'll even put it in writing, that I witnessed Ke'Relle's justified homicide when she resisted arrest by the noble Vulcan security forces."

"You don't have the authority to make that kind of offer," said Tumak.

"You sure about that, SubCommander?" said Malcolm, grinning a toothy grin. "I could have Ambassador Soval killed to seal our deal in blood, if you'd like."

"I would prefer to avoid that course, Lieutenant Reed," said Soval, "for I still have some goals to accomplish in this life. SubCommander Tumak, if Lieutenant Reed is willing to put things in writing as he suggests, it can not blow back on us. It would be making the best of an ugly situation."

"Very well," said Tumak. "I agree."

"I will hold you to that, SubCommander," said Lieutenant Reed. "I know you'll be tempted to suicide Ke'Relle once you're done with her, no matter what Soval believes, but you don't want to break your word to me and you don't want to lie to me."

Tumak studied the human, and though the Vulcan was fearless, he had to admit that the man's smile was unnerving. Sure, given his training and the physical advantages of a Vulcan he could kill the human right now, most probably kill him, he amended, for there was a good chance that the Lieutenant was a skilled combatant as well, but then what? Such men were part of an organization, and such organizations tended to avenge their operatives in most unpleasant ways, starting with friends and family and working their way to the center and a particularly gruesome end for their main target.

"I will abide by our agreement," said Tumak, without the bluster a human would deploy here, for Tumak was a Vulcan, and this was just business.

* * *

T'Pol was eating the fourth mochi, since Trip had left, with black tea on this fourth day, thinking of the Commander, wondering where he was and what he was doing, and all she felt was a strange sadness that was not her own. She was depressed, she knew that much, and she claimed that depression as her own, but this sadness was not her's: she believed that the sadness she was feeling to be that of Commander Tucker. All Vulcans had some level of psi talent, some just barely above that of humans, some more so, but T'Pol was barely average in this respect. Still, that was enough, thought T'Pol, to perceive the Commander's sadness, especially given how fixated she'd become on him since boarding the Enterprise. Vulcans rarely cried and never in public, so T'Pol was surprised when a tear landed on her hand.

"Look at me. I am falling apart. Just come back to me, Trip," she said aloud, for the Mess Hall was deserted at that hour, hoping that Trip would sense her mood, as she had sensed his. "Come back and whatever is wrong, we will make right."


	21. Chapter 21

**—Chapter 21—**

The Hyde-Wilkins industrial Park was quite impressive for a civilian facility. Eighty-six miles wide by a hundred-ten miles long, the facility bustled with activity twenty-four hours a day, and given the thousands of delivery trucks it was not difficult for the Vulcan security detail to secure a truck for their insertion to the Tri-Gen Labs building. It was here that Ke'Relle had found employment using false identity papers and credentials and it was here that the Vulcans came, driving to the rear of the building where deliveries were customarily made. The truck they were using was a genuine truck from a registered delivery company, the uniforms they wore were genuine, their weapons were concealed in shipping boxes, but the sharp eye would make these men out for what they were. Their stance betrayed them, the quiet way they watched everything, the way they subconsciously moved as a unit, the almost unseen visual reference to a leader.

The primary plan was for the Vulcans to find Ke'Relle, get close to her, stun her with an electric stun gun, which lacked the tell tale whine of a phaser pistol, and then get her out of there and to a Vulcan safe-house where the interrogation would begin. Much of what was good about Ke'Relle would die there, or be severely reduced when her mind was broken by the Vulcan mind-hackers, for no genuine mind-priest would ever purposefully destroy a mind. It was anathema to them. If that plan was not workable for any reason, Trip would approach Ke'Relle acting as if simply there on StarFleet business. He would make small talk with Ke'Relle and wait for the right moment to stun her, and then call in the Vulcans. Lastly, the backup plan if all else failed and Ke'Relle was alert and prepared to run or defend herself, Trip would try to talk her into surrendering. Barring that surrender, the Vulcans would come and kill her.

Three wonderful plans and Trip hated them all. He was not blind to the fact that Ke'Relle had murdered three men, but he knew security forces made deals with criminals all the time for information, and if these Vulcans extracted that information from Ke'Relle and left her with the mind of a child, well that woman wouldn't be the same one that killed those men, in a very real way. To be fair, Trip knew it was a stupid attempt to rescue something, anything, from this ugly mess, but Trip had always hated waste.

"We're headed for the thirtieth floor," said Tumak. "Stay close to me, Commander Tucker. I still suspect that—"

The PA system interrupted Tumak's monologue.

"Attention, attention, StarFleet personnel. Commander Tucker please report to section C11 at your convenience. I hope you have some bread pudding for me."

Malcolm looked at Trip, and Tumak said, "Is that her?"

"Yes," said Malcolm.

"Damn it," said Tumak. "How the hell… She knows we are here. We go with the backup plan, Commander Tucker. Let's see how convincing you can be."

Trip spun on his heels, moved to the elevators, and once inside one, pressed the button for C11.

* * *

"Let's go, Mallok," said Tumak, speaking to the team's sniper. "Report."

"C11 is three story indoor park," said Mallok, studying the schematic. "Trees, plants, even birds due to an open ceiling all the way to the roof. But there's no shot."

"What do you mean there's no shot? There are plants, which means they need sunlight and that means windows."

"No, Tumak. The park is in the middle of the building. They bounce light into it from the outside using a system of mirrors. A shot will never make the corners."

"Damn," said Tumak. "Entry points?"

"More bad news. One way in, one way out, through the elevators."

Everyone knew what that meant. This Ke'Relle would be waiting for them with a sniper rifle, shooting from cover or concealment. The entire team could get slaughtered if she was a good shot. Same thing would happen if they dropped in from the roof."

"Clever bitch," said Mallok.

"Yes, but she's bad news for us," said Tumak.

* * *

Trip stepped from the elevator, heart racing. He looked around what seemed to be an unusual, but attractive park. Hell of an architect he thought, trying not to think of what would happen if he failed here. A whistle and a wave from the second story drew his notice and Trip moved quickly in that direction, to come shortly on a patch of grass on which Ke'Relle was seated. Contrary to expectations Trip saw no weapons in sight.

"Trip!" said Ke'Relle, rising to embrace the Commander. "It's so wonderful to see you."

"I'd say the same, Ke'Relle, in different circumstances. They say you've killed three people."

"That they know of," said Ke'Relle. "Actually it's more like a baker's dozen."

"Wonderful," said Trip.

"Come," she said, kneeling gracefully on the grass. "I have a thermos of tea for us to share. How is T'Pol?"

"She was fine the last time I saw her."

"She is a nice enough person, Trip, but I can't see how an emotional man like you ended up with a bloodless Vulcan. I would have been a much better match for you, in different circumstances."

"You're a Vulcan too, Ke'Relle. Save some minor mutations, your genetic code is Vulcan, even if you call yourself a Happa."

"A human's genome is almost identical to that of some of your monkeys, or apes, I forget which," said Ke'Relle. "Even minor mutations can make a big difference, no?"

"Sure, I guess."

"Besides that Happa business is nothing but a gambit," said Ke'Relle, "although the men in charge do hope to profit by it one day."

"Care to tell me how?"

"Not so long as Earth is allied to Vulcan."

"Why do you hate your planet so?"

"It's not my planet, Trip."

"Ok, why do hate Vulcan so?"

"Would you really like to know?"

"I would, Ke'Relle."

"I'll tell you, if you promise not to share that information with anyone. I will not give you any tactical information, so there will be no conflict between your promise and your duty to StarFleet."

"Tell me, Ke'Relle. I promise never to reveal what you say to anyone."

"Not even T'Pol?"

"No one, Ke'Relle."

Ke'Relle nodded, satisfied that Trip would keep his promise, and said, "What do you know of the Old Vulcan?"

"Your people lived spread out across the face of Vulcan in large tribes," said Trip. "Given your uncontrolled passions, warfare was common and the planet was awash in blood, but due to your primitive weapons the damage you caused each other, and the planet, was limited. As you progressed technologically and then cracked the atom, your wars became progressively more destructive. I believe you almost wiped yourself out at several points in your history."

"Essentially correct, Trip. And how did that useless shit, Surak, change all this?"

"He preached his way of logic and controlled emotions as a remedy for the warlike passions of your people. In a remarkably short time span of mere decades, your people adopted his teachings, and logic became a way of life on Vulcan."

"Close, Trip, but the truth is that about ten percent of the Vulcan population refused to surrender their passions, their traditions and even their wars and departed the planet in disgust at what it was becoming. We went in search of a new homeworld where our ways could continue as they had from time immemorial."

"How is it that you did not kill yourselves off, Ke'Relle?"

"Through discipline, Trip," said Ke'Relle. "We called ourselves Rihansu by then, and we kept everything that we were before and added more through discipline, and then we named the Vulcans traitors to their heritage, and named them our enemies."

"That's interesting, Ke'Relle, but it doesn't help us here. I made a deal for you. It's not a great deal, but you get your life and you get your freedom."

"I'm not interested in a deal, Trip."

"Would you at least listen to it?"

"If you like."

"If you surrender now, the Vulcans will interrogate you, and I won't lie. They intend to hobble your mind, which will effectively give you the intellect of a child."

"That 'deal' does not appeal to me, Trip. No offense to you, I'm sure you did your best and I'm surprised they even offered something like that."

"The second part of the deal is they release you into the custody of my family on Earth. I have a large family, Ke'Relle and they'd watch out for you, protect you and love you. Yes, you'd be fragile and dependent, and you wouldn't be who you are now, but there are worse fates than a child's life, Ke'Relle, with a support system like that."

Ke'Relle touched Trip's forearm with gratitude, but not for her life.

"I'm touched, Trip. I am an orphan, and to my surprise, your family and the life you offer sounds wonderful," said Ke'Relle, "but even so, I am a Rihansu, bred for war. The loss of my life is not a tragedy, it is the natural course of events in the life of a warrior."

"They're gonna come for you soon, Ke'Relle, and they're going to kill you. They wouldn't even give me a weapon because the officer in charge of that squad thinks we were lovers on the Enterprise."

"How long do I have?"

Trip glanced at his watch and said, "Five minutes."

"It's a pity that you are here, Trip. My associates have planted explosives all over this building. We were not finished, but we planted enough to kill hundreds and collapse a dozen floors and start fires on almost every floor."

"Why are you doing this, Ke'Relle?

"Because Earth is allied with Vulcan."

"Well, I've always wanted to go out with a bang," said Trip, knowing there was no way to stop the act in such little time, nor evacuate the building of people.

"No, Trip. I meant it's a pity you're here because that means I can't bring this building down on the heads of those Vulcan fools, if it means I hurt you in the process. I have done more than my fair share for my cause, Trip, so if I fail here, well, I don't care. Another one of my kind will finish the task, but there's a price to be paid for withholding my wrath, and you will pay that price."

"Which is?"

"You're going to kill me."

"What?"

Ke'Relle drew a dagger from the small of her back and laid it in front of Trip, point facing her.

"I'm not gonna kill you, Ka'Relle."

"Yes, you will, Trip and in doing so you'll save hundreds of lives."

"Why, Ke'Relle? Why me?"

"I won't bore you with the meta-physical beliefs of the Rihansu, but suffice it to say, that I believe that if I offer you my life willingly and you take it, we will be lovers in the next life. My life's blood is the sacrifice and your taking of my life binds you to me so that we meet in the next life."

"I have to tell you, Ke'Relle," said Trip, "that there's a small chance that T'Pol will be my mate in the next life, and the one after, and after... So says a Vulcan named T'Avala."

"No, matter, Trip. In that case, T'Pol and I will have to share you, but I don't think you'll find such a prospect unpleasant, eh?" said Ke'Relle, flashing a sexy smile.

Trip had nothing to say. None of this seemed real and he was just stunned by the turn of recent events. Ke'Relle's spiritual beliefs were just one more variable to further screw up a situation already fucked up beyond belief.

"How much time, Trip?"

"Three minutes."

"Be careful with my hand," said Ke'Relle.

She lifted her left hand and showed Trip a marble sized bump in the palm of her hand.

"That's the detonator. It's quite fragile. I see that look in your eyes, Trip. Don't do anything foolish. Don't think of grabbing my hand. I'm stronger than you, and hundreds will die."

Trip's heart beat faster now and his breathing was ragged. He'd never killed anyone before in the course of his service with StarFleet and he'd never driven a dagger into the heart of a woman, much less a woman he considered a friend.

"Two minutes, Trip," said Ke'relle, taking up the dagger by the blade.

Trip just looked at the blade as if he was looking at a live snake.

"Take it, Trip," said Ke'Relle gently. "Take the hilt. It's ok, Trip. Take a deep breath."

Trip's mind raced and found no solution to this dilema, but one. One life, for hundreds. He grasped the hilt.

"Good, good," said Ke'Relle, moving much closer to Trip now, straddling Trip's left leg in order to place herself in the proper position. "It's ok, Trip, relax."

The entire time he'd spent with Ke'Relle on board the Enterprise flashed before Trip's eyes and this woman here was the same, and yet very different. She smiled at him, the smile he'd named 'Heart Breaker' aboard the Enterprise, as she guided the blade.

"There," said Ke'Relle, placing the dagger over heart, then releasing the blade. "Right there, Trip."

Trip sighed heavily and looked at Ke'Relle, while she looked intently back at him.

"Remember, Trip, I would be dead either way, but you're saving hundreds of lives."

Trip looked at her wide-eyed now, tears slowly dripping down his face, though he was unaware of them. He said nothing and Ke'Relle placed her hands on Trip's shoulders. A moment later she kissed away a tear from his left cheek, and then a tear from the right. Just then, the chime of the elevator's door opening triggered something in Ke'Relle.

"DO IT!" she said forcefully, and Trip thrust the dagger viciously into Ke'Relle's heart as if her words controlled his hand, the slender, double-edged blade easily sinking to the hilt: a moment later he withdrew the dagger and hot green blood stained Ke'Relle's clothing, and Trip's hands.

Ke'Relle gasped aloud, but she did not go into instant shock, as a human would have done, nor did she seem overly pained, though her grip on his shoulders tightened. The light of awareness dimmed in her eyes as she looked at Trip, but the man's tears seemed like diamonds to the Rihansu now, his face the sun, his eyes the sky. She fell slowly forward into his arms, then turned a bit to one side so that she could press herself against his body, press her face against his neck. Her left hand slid slowly from Trip's shoulder and he grasped it carefully. He felt her lips against his neck as she gave him a kiss.

"See you in the next life, Trip," she whispered. "We're going to be good together."

* * *

The Vulcan squad exited the elevator first, but it was Malcolm that spotted Trip. They all ran to reach the two, and did so quickly. One of the Vulcans reached for Ke'Relle.

"Don't touch her, mother fucker!" said Trip, furious.

The Vulcan had been taken aback for a second by the human's vehemence, but now reached for the female once again.

"There's a fragile detonator inside her left hand, you fuck!"

That Vulcan drew back and the squad's explosives expert examined Ke'Relle's device with something that resembled a large PADD device, but which emitted a very minimal energy signature when scanning, in order that it might not accidentally set off a detonator. He examined the readings, made some adjustments on his unit, and then set it down six feet from Trip and Ke'Relle.

As an engineer, Trip strongly suspected that the device had duplicated the energy signature of Ke'Relle's device and was now broadcasting that signal out, for the disruption of that signal would trigger the bombs. A moment later, that Vulcan approached Trip and gently wrapped an aluminum gauze bandage around Ke'Relle's hand.

"You did well for everyone in this building, Commander Tucker," said the explosives tech. "Such things are often unavoidable, unfortunately."

He stood then and moved to speak to Tumak. The SubCommander gave some orders then came and grabbed a handful of Ke'Relle's hair and pulled her head back, that he might see her pupils. Malcolm saw the outrage on Trip's face, and the pain in his eyes.

"Back the fuck off, now!" said Malcolm, pistol aimed at Tumak's head. "She's dead. C11 is sealed off, the scene is secured. Back off, now!"

Tumak's men all reached for one sort of weapon or another, but it was clear to them all that this Lieutenant Reed would pull the trigger no matter the consequences to himself, and there was no guarantee that they were faster than the human, so they all looked to Tumak for their cue.

"Do as he says," said Tumak, after a last dispassionate look at Ke'Relle. The human was right. She was done. "Line the perimeter."

The Vulcans fell back, Malcolm with them, in order to give Trip some privacy. They stayed there for the better part of an hour before Trip gently laid Ke'Relle down on the grass. He then drew a small penknife from his jacket and severed a lock of Ke'Relle's hair, which he then pocketed. Minutes later he walked for the elevators, red eyed and with a look of exhaustion worse than a week without sleep. He left the Vulcans and the scene behind him without a word, and Malcolm followed him.


	22. Chapter 22

**—Chapter 22—**

T'Pol had finished the 7th mochi on this night since Commander Tucker's mission had begun, and was now laying in bed, in the darkness, waiting for her mind to wind down and sleep to claim her, when she noticed a change in the Enterprise significant enough to draw her attention from her misery. She moved for the comm.

"T'Pol to Bridge."

"Yes, SubCommander," said Ensign Sato, who was being cross-trained this entire month and serving as Acting Captain of the night watch.

"Why have we dropped out of warp?"

"We are to rendezvous with the Vulcan diplomatic shuttle, V'irsse."

"For what purpose?" said T'Pol, heart beating like a taiko drum. "This is not a scheduled event."

"The V'irsse is delivering two of our crewmen, sir."

"ETA?"

"Twenty-two minutes, sir."

T'Pol had heard enough. Moving like a cheetah, she stripped, showered, applied the minimal makeup she preferred, dressed and then walked to the access hatch with 1.2 minutes to spare. The captain was already there, eager to see his crewmen.

"The Vulcan shuttle just docked, T'Pol."

"Yes, Captain, I see," said T'Pol, heart racing and stomach knotted, but outwardly poised and serene.

A moment later, linkage made, the hatch opened to allow crewmen Reed and Tucker to return to the ship.

"Malcolm, how a—," said the captain, only to fall silent.

The Lieutenant's face was as grim as he'd ever seen it and that was enough to tell Archer that the mission had been horrid. But if Malcolm looked grim, Trip looked worse, much worse. Trip looked past his friend, Jon, flinched as he looked past T'Pol and simply walked away. T'Pol moved to follow him, but Malcolm grasped her gently by the bicep.

"He's had a bad ride, SubCommander. He's going to need some time."

T'Pol gave the man her coldest glance and looked pointedly at his hand.

Malcolm dropped the hand, and said, "I meant no disrespect, SubCommander. I'm just concerned about a friend."

T'Pol's expression thawed fractionally and she said, "I understand, Lieutenant."

Then she moved after Trip and that's when the captain turned on him.

"Malcolm, what the hell happened to you guys? Especially Trip?"

Malcolm opened his mouth to speak, but Archer cut him off.

"Don't say 'need to know' Malcolm," said Archer, "because I don't give a shit! Now you're gonna tell me what happened to my crewmen out there, Lieutenant, or I'm gonna beat the crap out of you all up and down the Enterprise!"

"I could use a drink," said Malcolm.

"Yeah, sure, come on," said Archer. "My Ready Room."

* * *

Standing in front of Commander Tucker's quarters, T'Pol pressed a button and with her superior Vulcan hearing, heard the corresponding chime from inside the Commander's cabin. No answer, so she pressed again, and once more. Still no response. Given her rank, T'Pol could have over-ridden the security settings of the door, but Vulcans had great respect for privacy. Coming to a decision, she went to her quarters and disabled the security protocol on her cabin door. It would now automatically open for anyone, in case Commander Tucker came looking for her. She then went to the Mess Hall. It was an hour past the Commander's usual time to come there, but she had a feeling he would show up eventually, and he did. He'd showered and changed and T'Pol dared to hope that such was the reason he had not answered her pleas when she was at his door. He was in the shower. He could not answer the door.

For his part, Trip entered the Mess Hall and saw T'Pol sitting at their usual table. She did not speak, she did not motion, she merely looked at him, and he knew that if he did not acknowledge her, she would respect his privacy and try again the next day. But she deserved better than that.

"Iced coffee. French roast. Two tablespoons of sweetened condensed milk," said Trip. "Green tea, half tablespoon of sugar."

A moment later he had his drinks and headed for T'Pol. She looked up at him as he set her tea down and for the hundredth time, Trip was amazed how much emotion she could convey, even with a Vulcan's cultural reserve at work to limit her facial expressions.

It was the eyes. Those almond shaped eyes could convey a dozen different meanings and emotions. At the moment, he saw loneliness, pain that he had walked past her without a glance or a word, distress at seeing him like this, concern for his well-being…

"It's good to see you, T'Pol. I've missed you terribly."

She said nothing for a good minute, as if she was parsing his words for every shade of meaning.

"I feel the same, Commander. I was concerned that you no longer cared for me, after you moved past me as if I did not exist."

"I'm sorry about that, T'Pol. For a moment you reminded me of someone."

"Ke'Relle."

"Yes," said Trip. "You heard. You Vulcans have the best messenger service."

"I have received no dispatches, Commander, but your reaction to seeing me was an emotional one. Since you say nothing has changed between us, since you say I reminded you of someone, Ke'Relle was the obvious choice. Even if you have met other Vulcan females on the Volares, you would not have had enough time to form an emotional attachment to them. So it had to be Ke'Relle."

"I killed her, T'Pol," said Trip miserably, and T'Pol watched the man struggle with his emotions. "I took a dagger, I looked her in the eyes, I stabbed her viciously and then I held her as I felt her die, T'Pol."

"If so, I am certain that she forced your hand, Commander," said T'Pol, reaching out to touch Trip's forearm. "I know the kind of man you are. You would have looked for any other way, before killing her."

"I did," said Trip. "I even found a way out for her with people that would love her like a daughter, but she wouldn't take it."

"Your parents," said T'Pol, "after my people broke her mind."

"Explain your logic, T'Pol."

"If you killed Ke'Relle, than she must have committed some serious crimes. So if she were taken alive my people would want to force mind-melds on her, to determine the extent of her crimes and her involvement with the Happa. Repeated forceful mind-melds will break a mind, or my people would break her mind purposefully afterwards if she were strong enough to resist the mind-melds. Afterward they would release her, seeing this entire process as a lessor evil than killing her."

"And my parents?"

"It was just a hunch," said T'Pol. "It seemed like something you would do."

"A hunch," said Trip, wondering if the Bond was actually responsible for that insight.

"Did you love her, Commander?"

"What?"

"Did you care for her, as I hope you care for me?"

"No," said Trip, caressing T'Pol's cheek with the back of his hand. "Not like you. Never like you. But I hate the fact that I had to kill her, and I hate the fact that she was a—, that she was bred for war."

He had been about to say, 'I hate the fact that she was a Rihansu, bred for war', but he had given his word to Ke'Relle to keep her secret and he would honor that word. T'Pol had heard the hesitation as well. He was about to say something else in addition to bred for war, she thought, then moved on, for the only thing which mattered was that Trip had come back.

"Listen," said Trip, "I'm going to leave now. Any minute someone's going to walk in here and want to know all about my mission and I don't feel like answering questions about it."

"I understand, Commander. Would you like company, or privacy?"

"I'd welcome your company, T'Pol, but I would probably be a miserable companion tonight."

"No matter. I will come, gladly."

Once in his quarters, Trip headed for the bathroom and said, "I'm going to shave real quick. This mini-beard I'm sporting itches like crazy."

T'Pol looked around the room then pulled out the Commander's chair. She stripped naked and neatly laid out her clothes over the back of the Commander's chair and then crawled into bed, under the warm covers. That's how Trip found her when he entered the room, shirtless but still wearing his jeans. Without word he crawled into bed with T'Pol and a moment later she pressed close to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

For what seemed the longest time, Trip simply stared at the ceiling. He wanted to forget, just forget everything, but that was impossible and so he would remember only the best of Ke'Relle, her joy, her humor, her beauty and their mutual affection. Perhaps in time, the memory of killing her would fade. Life must go on. That decision made, he turned his head to see if T'Pol was still awake. She felt him move and raised her eyes to meet his and Trip gently pushed against T'Pol and she moved away from him. Trip then slowly drew the blanket away from T'Pol.

Flawless beauty, he thought, as he caressed her body, first with his eyes and then his hand. He paused over the Vulcan heart and T'Pol knew that it was there that he must have thrust the killing blow. After a bit, Trip moved on.

"Stand up. I want to see you fully."

T'Pol moved gracefully off the bed and stood before Commander Tucker, who had spun around to a seated position on the bed, his bare feet on the metal floor. T'Pol was somewhat self-conscious, but considered that a small price to please Trip at a time like this.

"Flawless," said Trip, echoing his earlier thoughts, hand gliding over velvet skin, and T'Pol blushed.

"Turn around. Slowly," said Trip and T'Pol felt his glance and his hands on her body the whole time.

After enduring a few minutes of the Commander's inspection, T'Pol's emotions threatened her control and when the Commander chose to run a hand upwards on the inside of her left thigh, T'Pol gasped aloud.

"Please, Commander. Don't be cruel. I can not wait any longer."

"You sure?"

"Yes, please, Commander."

"I'm exhausted," said Trip with a smile. "I can only promise you two minutes."

Drawing forth on the last of her reserves, T'Pol said, "I have always assumed that two minutes would be your best time, Commander, so I will not be disappointed in the least."

Trip sunk his teeth into T'Pol's left cheek, and said, "You'll pay for that, T'Pol."

That was the last straw for T'Pol.

"May I pay for that now, Commander? Please! I beg of thee."

Trip did not understand, for T'Pol had spoken to him in Vulcan. Nevertheless, her need was clear, and if she was speaking to him in Vulcan, she was losing control. Trip drew her closer to him, and a desperately eager T'Pol kissed him deeply before slipping onto the bed.

The rest of the night was a wonderful dream for T'Pol who went from peak to higher peak, all while trying frantically to rise above the tide of pleasure so that she could ensure that Trip was taken care of as well, but it was useless. It was like the man was toying with her, stripping from her every last shred of logic and control, leaving behind only sensation and emotion. When T'Pol made this realization she climaxed once more, then collapsed into unconsciousness a brief second after crying out in some combination of a scream, sigh and whimper.

Trip laughed with joy when he felt T'Pol go limp, an emotion he had not expected to feel again after killing Ke'Relle, but he had felt the Bond quickening as he moved inside T'Pol, and he had felt the growth of an awareness and a very loving type of power. With that power it was a trivial thing to take T'Pol to her peak and hold her there at his pleasure. He could have done so without even touching his mate.

T'Avala was right. The Bond was a wonderful thing and it grew lovelier still as he moved his awareness through T'Pol's emotions, memories and dreams, for Bond-mates had no secrets from the other. Trip felt her victories, her defeats, her numerous pains and fewer pleasures and he saw a line from this night back to his initial meeting with T'Pol and he now understood that the tel which sparked to life in that meeting would not be satisfied, or give them peace, until they were Bound together. There was no free-will in this matter, no possibility of denying the Bond. They were slaves of that power, but if so, Trip was a willing slave and he knew that T'Pol felt the same, because he knew her more intimately than anyone else ever had, or ever would.

* * *

T'Pol woke, drowsy still and instinctively groping for Trip. When she didn't make contact with him, she opened her eyes and looked around, thinking of the wonders of the night before.

"Oh, Surak," she thought, "what have I done."

She was terrified now, for her end of the Bond was not yet active and her consuming fear was that Trip might tire of her one day soon and cast her aside. She knew for a fact that if that happened she would take the logical step to end her misery and it was a grim humor that made her consider her various options in that case.

"Hey, you," said Trip as he entered his quarters, a tray of stacked dishes in his hands.

"Commander," said T'Pol, falling back on formality in an attempt to shield herself from the desire to throw herself upon the Commander and taste once more, his passion.

"Breakfast. You hungry?"

"Starving," said T'Pol, rising out of bed.

Once she'd approached the Commander, he looked her over and laughed out loud.

"What?"

"Nothing," he said, with a tight hug. "You have mattress hair."

"Mattress hair?"

"Yeah, it's like helmet hair."

"I do not know what that means. Should I attend to it?"

"No, it's cute," said Trip, and he meant it.

The hair on the left side of T'Pol's head had bunched up into something of a horn, first going up, then forwards, held together by an overly generous amount of hair spray which she had administered the night before, in her haste to meet the Vulcan shuttle in time.

"Let's eat, T'Pol."

A half hour later they'd finished breakfast, though T'Pol could hardly have named anything of what she'd eaten. She watched the Commander intently and she felt the same intensity from him.

"What is that look?"

"What look, T'Pol?"

"You have a devious look on your face, as if you are planning something underhanded. I warn you, Commander Tu—"

"Actually, I have a wonderful secret and I was just wondering if I should share it with you, or let you eventually find it out on your own."

"A secret?" said T'Pol, and not even the façade of Vulcan detachment could keep her eagerness from being apparent.

T'Pol loved secrets. It was one of the reasons she'd become a scientist.

"Tell me, Trip. Tell me your secret."

"No, you've ruined the moment with your baseless accusations, T'Pol."

"Please, Trip. Please tell me the secret. You know you want to share it with me."

"Ok, go look in the mirror and then I'll tell you."

"Why?"

"Just go."

T'Pol did as the Commander suggested. A moment later, she screamed.

"Trip!"

Trip laughed and a moment later T'Pol came back, brush in hand, working feverishly to tame her mattress hairdo.

"You are a monster!" said T'Pol.

"I'm not the monster," said Trip. "You're the one with a horn."

"Was that the secret?"

"No," said Trip.

"Than what?"

Trip tapped the mattress, and after a last look to make sure her hair looked presentable, T'Pol came to kneel in front of Trip, excitement in her eyes.

"It's a good thing you're not wearing socks, because this secret would blow them right off!"

"Is that so, Commander?"

"It is. Now you have to understand, this is a deep, dark secret, T'Pol. It may drive you to ecstasy, it may drive you to madness. Are you strong enough to handle such emotions?"

"You know that I am, Commander," said T'Pol confidently, certain that such histrionics on the part of the Commander meant an especially juicy secret.

"Ok, but just remember, that you asked for it."

"Yes, yes, Commander," said T'Pol. "I asked."

"Ok. You were a young girl when your father disappeared. You didn't know why he left, or even what happened to him. Do you remember?"

"Yes," said T'Pol, unnerved by the unexpected direction this conversation had taken.

"You used to go in that dry riverbed behind your house every day for months after that happened and cry your eyes out, while T'Les pretended not to notice, though it must have torn her heart out, Vulcan or not."

"How do you know all this, Commander? Have you spoken to my mother?"

"No."

"You were lonely as a little girl, and you were lonely as a teen. The Vulcan Science Academy was a bit better, but not much. No matter where you went, you were an outsider. Oddly enough, you feel more at ease among humans. You still feel like an outsider amongst us much of the time, but at least we accept you as you are, perhaps because we have fewer expectations of you, than Vulcans. You just have to be yourself with us, we don't expect Vulcan perfection."

"Why are you doing this?" said T'Pol, bewildered. "How do you know all this?"

"I'm psychic."

"Really?"

"No."

"Then what? How do you know these things, Trip?"

"And then you met me," said Trip, "and something happened between us, and in a relatively short time we gravitated towards each other, quite easily, I see as I look back on it now."

"And so, Commander?

"And so we come to this, T'Pol."

"Come to what, Commander?" said T'Pol, left hand bunched in a fist and unconsciously pressed hard into her thigh.

"Think it through, T'Pol. Where is your logic?"

T'Pol was confused in a Vulcan way. Her mind desperately sought a logical conclusion, but the possibility that she could be Bound to a human never entered her calculations. Accordingly, her agitation only grew, which further degraded her ability to reason, and so on, and so on. If smoke had started to pour from T'Pol's ears, Trip would not have been the least surprised.

Finally, taking pity on the Vulcan, Trip said, "T'Pol."

Her eyes darted to his, desperate for an answer to an unsolvable problem that seemed the most important thing in the world to her at the moment. Trip grinned at her like the Cheshire cat and sent a hint of it down the Bond to T'Pol, and between that silly grin and the hint, something clicked inside T'Pol.

"No," she said, but she drew out the word, so that it sounded like nnnnnnnooooooooooo, while looking at Trip in amazement.

"Yes."

"Nooo."

"I said yes, you brilliant Vulcan fool!"

"Yes?"

"Oh, yes, T'Pol."

"But it's not possible, Trip!"

"Your logic is flawed, T'Pol," said Trip, and consciously opened his end of the Bond to allow T'Pol to experience the feelings that he held for her, by allowing them to flow openly towards his mate.

T'Pol started crying then, but they were tears of joy and not even the strictest interpreter of Vulcan logic would find fault with her now, for the Bond was of central importance in the life of every Vulcan, the one thing that gave meaning to all the rest of it and an emotional response was completely logical in the face of a mate secured and a Bond completed. Trip reached out to comfort her with a hug, but that only increased the volume of tears and the outpouring of emotion from T'Pol, something that amazed and gratified Trip, even as it surprised him with its intensity.

"Is it too much?" said Trip. "Should I tamp down on the flow?"

T'Pol shook her head, no, and continued right on with the waterworks.

"You gonna be ok?"

T'Pol shook her head, endearingly so, and then prompty blew her nose into one of Trip's t-shirts, which amused him to no end. Rising off the bed, Trip returned a moment later with a small bottle of mirin and a shot glass, which he handed to T'Pol. The sweet sake was from his private stash and he enjoyed it mostly as a replacement for dessert, for it was too sweet to drink in any great quantity.

"This is genuine fermented mirin, T'Pol, not the common swill, which is just sake with sugar added. Costs a dollar more, but it's worth it for times like this."

T'Pol held out the shot glass with both hands, but it still moved about like a drunken sailor dancing a jig. Steadying her hands with his, Trip poured T'Pol a shot of mirin. The Vulcan promptly poured the shot down the hatch.

"Yeah," said Trip. "You were supposed to sip it, a bit at a time, in order to savor the taste."

T'Pol held out the glass once more, and Trip refilled it. This time T'Pol sipped it in one point three seconds.

"Much better," said Trip, then took a shot straight from the bottle for himself. "One more?"

T'Pol shook her head, and set the glass aside.

"I'm going to tamp down on my end of the Bond," said Trip with a smile, "so that you can speak again."

T'Pol tried to frown at the man. That she should lose control at a time like this was completely understandable. She was a girl Vulcan after all, and this was a special moment. She felt the flow of emotions from her mate fade slowly away and mourned their passing almost immediately, comforted only by the fact that she could experience them at any time now that Trip and she were Bound together.

She worked to gain some semblance of control of her emotions by focusing on some elemental breathing exercises and Trip noted that such exercises were bringing full lips together to form a perfect circle. An errant thought of the most scandalous nature travelled down the Bond to T'Pol, just before he cut the flow from his end of the Bond.

Looking up at Trip through her bangs and tear stained eyes, T'Pol said, "Is mirin all that you have for me, Commander?"

"I don't know what you mean, T'Pol," said Trip, truly unaware that his brief lascivious thought had travelled down the Bond to T'Pol.

"Then I will bid you good day, Commander Tucker," said T'Pol, rising from the bed and moving for the door, as if she fully intended to walk the halls of the Enterprise in the nude.

Trip rushed her, pinning T'Pol against the cabin's door.

"Stop it! Stop it, you beast!" said T'Pol, resisting half-heartedly and squealing with delight as Trip went on an all out offensive meant to drive the Vulcan back into his bed.

It was Trip's misfortune that Malcolm and Hoshi should walk by his door at that particular time. Hoshi, with the ears of a terrier, froze.

"What are you doing, Hoshi?" said Malcolm.

"Shhhh," said Hoshi, then took a step to rest her ear on Trip's door.

Almost immediately, she started snickering

"Come here," she whispered to Lieutenant Reed.

"Hoshi, I don't feel good about this," said Malcolm. "What if someone walks by here now and catches us in the act"

Hoshi motioned vigorously, and when Malcolm still held back, the Ensign silently mouthed silently, "Get over here now!"

With a sigh, Malcolm pressed his ear to the door. While nearly sound-proof, the vibrations from the other side of the door were transmitted quite clearly, along with the faint sounds of a female's laughter and delighted squeals.

They listened for ten seconds more, Hoshi barely restraining herself, until she could take no more. The Ensign tip-toed away, motioning that Malcolm should follow her. Twenty feet down the hall, her restraint cracked and Hoshi burst out in a raucous laughter.

"I knew it! I knew it! I was right! You thought I was crazy, but I was right!"

"You were right, Hoshi."

"I was right, you pompous British jerk!"

"I just agreed with you!"

"I was right!"

"You were right and I was wrong, Hoshi."

"Oh, man, Malcolm, you don't know how good it feels to be right! You have no idea!"

"Yeah, I can only imagine," said Malcolm, "but now that this thing is over, you made mention of 'making it worth my while' when we began this investigation."

"Sure," said Hoshi. "What do you have in mind? I can get you a couple of extra days on your next leave, or have Chef make you a favorite meal, or—"

"I was thinking of something a bit more personal," said Malcolm, the smile of a scoundrel on his face.

"Oh? OH… Are you sure? I'm all kinds of crazy, Malcolm."

Malcolm snorted and said, "Yeah, tell me something I don't know."

"Do you have any sadistic impulses?"

"I didn't until I started working with you," said Malcolm. "Now I'm full of inner rage."

"Good. Hold on to that rage. I'm in need of a caning."

"What?"

"You'll also need to make a list of your next of kin, Malcolm. You can pin it to your underwear."

"Will do."

"We'll need a rubber racquetball and some twine, so you can fashion a ball gag for me," said Hoshi, "some rattan canes, we can get those from Becky, the biologist on deck three. Some leather strips, a rivet gun, baby oil, then—"

"We need all that?"

"And much more, Malcolm. Look, I haven't been with anyone for a while, but I've had a crush on you since the day I boarded the Enterprise, so if we're gonna do this, let's do it right. Now, are you in, or out?"

Looking into Hoshi's black eyes was like looking into the Abyss for Malcolm. He could swear that he could see the devil there, laughing back at him.

"Lieutenant!"

"Sorry, love," said Malcolm "You were saying?"

"Are you in? Or out?" said Hoshi, fists clenched around his uniform, a manic look on her face.

"Oh, I'm in, Hoshi. All the way in, or as much of me as you can handle."

"Yes!"

"What else?" said Malcolm.

"They'll probably find us dead in the morning. The coroner will write it up as mutual asphyxiation."

"No worries," said Malcolm, now truly worried. "We all have to go sometime."

"Welcome aboard, Lieutenant Reed," said Hoshi with a wicked smile. "Make certain that your tray is in the upright position. We're in for a wild ride!"

—0—

Disclaimer: the line' All the way in, or as much of me as you can handle' was from an episode of American Dad. Stan said it to Bullock, and it cracked me up. I thought you'd get a kick out of it, but it's not my line.


	23. Chapter 23

**—Chapter 23—**

"Engineering," said Trip in answer to the summons beep from the wall console.

"Trip?"

"Yeah, Malcolm, what's up?"

"Can I talk to you in private?"

"Now?" said Trip.

"Yes."

"Sure. You want to come down here?" said Trip. "I'll close the office door and there are rumors that a bottle of good tequila is hidden here, somewhere, along with two shot glasses. Maybe we can find it."

"Listen, I'm in my quarters now. Can I see you here?"

"Sounds serious. Ok. On my way," said Trip.

"Good. Thanks, Trip."

Five minutes later, Trip announced himself and Malcolm met him at the door, to walk him inside. Malcolm's desktop monitor was on, and the moving image of a man was displayed on that monitor."

"If you've got a call, I can come back in a few minutes," said Trip.

"No," said Malcolm. "This arsehole with teeth and a cheap toupee is Harris. He wants to speak with you."

"Ok," said Trip, although this was not what he'd expected.

A moment later, both Trip and Malcolm were seated in front of the monitor, and Malcolm said, "You're up, Harris."

"Commander Tucker," said Harris. "I'm here in order to recruit you for a mission."

"I'm not interested," said Trip. "My last mission was a ball buster."

"Yes," said Harris. "I've heard of it, Commander, and I understand your sentiment. Still, I think you will be interested, when you hear what I have to offer for your participation in this mission."

"What kind of mission?" said Trip.

"I can't tell you," said Harris, "until you agree to be part of this mission, leave the Enterprise and arrive at your destination. For what it's worth, Lieutenant Reed has agreed to accompany you."

"Ok, you can't tell me the nature of the mission," said Trip. "What can you offer me?"

"I understand you and SubCommander T'Pol are now mated," said Harris.

Trip looked at Malcolm, and Malcolm shook his head subtly in denial.

"Lieutenant Reed said nothing, I assure you," said Harris. "I have many sources of information."

"Let me guess," said Trip. "Now you threaten to disclose that information and blackmail me into going on this mission."

"I prefer not to work that way," said Harris.

Malcolm coughed and said, "Bullshit!" as part of the cough. Harris fixed Malcolm with a hard look, then turned his attention back to Trip and in the span of a few minutes, explained to Commander Tucker exactly what he had to offer him, in return for his participation in the upcoming mission.

"That is tempting," said Trip. "I've never heard of you, Harris. What's your association with StarFleet?"

"That's none of your business," said Harris.

"So how do I know you can deliver what you promise?" said Trip, and Harris looked at Malcolm.

"Harris is an ugly cock and the result of a generational pattern of incest," said Malcolm, "but he always keeps his word and he always delivers."

"How long will this mission take to complete?" said Trip.

"Best guess? Three to five months, give or take a couple of weeks either way. The actual mission will only take a day or so, the rest is training, planning and other assorted preparations."

"When do you need my answer, Harris?" said Trip.

"Now. If you accept the mission, you and Reed leave the Enterprise at 03:00, so that gives you, what, eleven hours, to pack, say good-bye and spend some time with the SubCommander. You can sleep on the shuttle."

"How do we clear it with Captain Archer?" said Trip.

"I'll take care of it. Your orders will come through StarFleet, after you accept the mission. Your shuttle will be on its way to pick you up soon afterwards. I'm presuming my offer is tempting enough that you can't pass it up," said Harris. "Now, your decision, Commander?"

Trip thought madly, as Malcolm and Harris waited patiently.

"I'll do it," said Trip.

* * *

"It is too soon, Commander Tucker," said T'Pol, as she and Trip enjoyed a late night snack in the Mess Hall. "Given what you went through during your last mission, they had no right to ask this of you."

"It's ok, T'Pol."

T'Pol watched incredulously as the Commander dumped one tablespoon of sugar into his coffee, then another, then two more. In normal circumstances she would have lectured him on the harms of excess sugar, but she was distracted by the Commander's mission, which took the fight out of her.

"What is the mission, Commander Tucker?"

"They won't tell me until I leave the Enterprise and arrive at my destination," said Trip.

"Will they allow me to join you, Commander? My talents could help ensure the success of this mission."

"Sorry, apparently they just need a Chief Engineer," said Trip.

"How long will you be gone, Commander?"

"Three to five months, T'Pol, but the majority of that time is allotted to training. The actual mission is only slated to last a day or two."

"That is a long time to be gone, Trip," said T'Pol. "I will miss you."

"I'll miss you too, T'Pol, but it's for a good cause."

"You said you did not know the nature of this mission, Commander. So how do you know it is for a good cause?"

"No, T'Pol. I meant it's good for our cause. I'm doing it for you, I'm doing it for me."

"I would much rather have my mate by my side," said T'Pol, "than have him intentionally placing himself in harm's way in order to secure a round of promotions for us both."

"It's not like that, T'Pol."

"Very well. In what way will it be good for us, Commander?"

"Will you allow me surprise you with it when I get back, T'Pol? Please."

T'Pol thought for a moment, then said, "I will, on one condition, Commander. You promise to find your way back to me at the end of this mission."

"I promise, T'Pol."

There seemed nothing left to talk about concerning the Commander's departure, so she went off onto a tangent.

"You have gone quite mad, Commander Tucker," said T'Pol, indicating the soiled plates assembled in front of the Commander, the grim reminder of a last supper of sorts.

Over there, a large bowl which had contained a sausage, crawfish and shrimp gumbo built around a roux as dark as chocolate, and next to it the plate which had held the crusty, garlic and butter baguette which Chef had paired with the gumbo. Next to that platter, another large plate which had held a whole fried catfish, six fried frog legs, fries, coleslaw, a spicy boudin sausage, and lastly, a cake dish which held only a few moist crumbs of the lemon and poppy seed pound cake, drizzled with a sweet a sauce made of sugar, lemon zest and rum, which Chef had sent out of his kitchen.

"Hey, if Chef wants to take care of me before I leave, who am I to refuse? For all I know I'm eating cardboard until I return to the Enterprise."

"It is fortunate for us both that the Mess Hall was empty at this hour, or we would have had a number of spectators to contend with, all wishing to watch a Southern fried Caligula stuff his gullet."

"We've had a pleasant time of it this evening, T'Pol. Will you really send me off with this tirade against a good ol' boy who happens to enjoy his food?"

"Apologies, Commander," said T'Pol.

"Didn't I take care of my baby?" said Trip, reaching out to gently caress T'Pol's ear. "I worked like a trooper for hours, T'Pol, touching this, touching that, kissing this, kissing that, nibbling this, nibbling that…"

"You did. You did," said T'Pol, blushing. "I have no complaints on that score, Commander Tucker. Your preparatory attention to detail was nothing short of magnificent and when you moved past that, you rocked my world. Did I use that phrase correctly?"

"You did," said Trip, pulling T'Pol close in order to plant a kiss on her cheek.

Just then, Trip's comm unit buzzed.

"Tucker."

"Shuttle is here, Commander," said Malcolm. "Make your way to the access hatch. I thought the flight crew might want to stretch their legs, get a bite to eat, but they're on a schedule."

"Right," said Trip. "On my way."

T'Pol remained silent as she and the Commander walked the halls towards the turbo-lift. When the doors had closed and the lift had just begun moving towards its destination, T'Pol paused its motion. After a kiss long enough to satisfy them both, she allowed the turbo-lift to resume its course.

"Remember your promise, Commander," said T'Pol, looking Trip directly in the eye. "If you do not return in time, I will come for you, and I had best not find you ensconced as an alien potentate on some pleasure planet, a harem of women at your feet."

Trip laughed at the thought.

"Oh, come on, you'd never find me! I bet I could find some place in this vast universe, some place safe from the wrath of my Vulcan mate, T'Pol. I just have to find it."

"No such place exists, Commander, I assure you. Do not even waste your time on such a fruitless search. I will find you no matter where you run."

"I'm teasing you, T'Pol," said Trip, using the opportunity to steal one last quick kiss from T'Pol, even as the turbo-lift reached its destination. "I'd never run from you. Never, never, never."

The rest of their time together was brief, and much too soon T'Pol saw the shuttle pull away from the Enterprise, and then vanish in an instant as the pilot engaged the warp drive.


	24. Chapter 24

**—Chapter 24—**

The next morning, by ship's time, T'Pol was to meet Captain Archer for a working breakfast, and seated herself just moments before the captain entered the Captain's Mess, Phlox in his orbit.

"Good morning, T'Pol," said Jon as he took his seat.

"Captain," said T'Pol, "Doctor."

"Good morning, SubCommander," said Phlox with a smile.

The Captain's steward entered the room and waited expectantly.

"Go ahead, SubCommander, "said Jon.

"Hot blueberry tea, please," said T'Pol, "and a small fruit platter."

The steward nodded, looked at the Captain.

"Two breakfast tacos, two scrambled eggs, refried beans, side of pico de gallo," said Archer.

"Very good, Captain," said the steward. "And for you, Doctor Phlox?"

"Tall stack of buttermilk pancakes, please, with caramelized bananas. Maple syrup, coffee."

The steward nodded and left the room, as Jon looked at them both.

"I suppose, the first thing I should tell you both, is that Trip will be gone for five years or so," said Jon, looking at T'Pol.

Although no one 'officially' knew Trip and T'Pol were together, everyone knew they were together by now. Although they'd always given the rumor mill plenty of reason to suspect that there was something going on between them, something had definitely changed between the Chief Engineer and the Vulcan after his return from his last mission, and it was undeniable. When they spoke to each other, their eyes touched, when riding in a crowded turbo-lift the SubCommander pressed herself unconsciously into the Chief Engineer, violating his personal space in a way she never did with any other crewman, and when she looked at the man, the cool, poised Vulcan gave the appearance of a femininity she never displayed so overtly with any other.

"I couldn't tell anyone until now, SubCommander, but as my second in command, you have a 'Need to Know'."

T'Pol seemed to doubt the Captain's veracity, and said, "Is that so, Captain?"

"Yep. StarFleet is opening a large breeding farm in Syndicate space," said Archer, "and Trip will stand at stud, breeding a whole new generation of sexy officers to serve StarFleet's purpose of reaching out to new worlds, and new civilizations. They're importing thousands of alien hotties from all corners of the galaxy to... stimulate the Commander."

"I am not amused, Captain," said T'Pol.

"No?"

"Not in the least."

"Ok then, moving on," said Jon, looking at Phlox. "Doctor, it gives me great personal pleasure to inform you that we will soon be on a heading for the Denobula Triaxa system."

Phlox was indeed pleased at that, practically grinning from ear to ear.

"Oh, that is fantastic news, Captain," said Phlox. "For what reason?"

"Furthering diplomatic ties between our two worlds," said Archer. "We're due for some personal leave, it should be a treat for the crew, and it will give you a chance to spend some time with family."

* * *

It took twelve hours at warp 4, before the shuttle which had carried Trip and Malcolm dropped out of warp in system of a red dwarf star, and after ten minutes or so at sub-light speed, the shuttle drew close to a huge asteroid. After receiving clearance, the shuttle entered a huge shuttle bay built into the hollowed out asteroid. From an engineer's point of view, Trip was fascinated by the industry this outpost represented, and soon after, they exited the shuttle, to be greeted by a StarFleet Ensign.

"Commander Tucker, Lieutenant-Commander Reed, welcome. I'm Ensign Lau. Now if you'll follow me, I'll show you to your quarters."

"What's the size of this asteroid?" said Trip to the Ensign.

"I believe it's 100km long, and from 30-80km wide, and from 10-52km tall, depending on where in particular you take such measurements, sir."

"When did StarFleet get into the business of building bases like this?" said Malcolm.

"This is actually a Vulcan installation now, Lieutenant-Commander. Used to be an Orion stronghold, three years ago, and then the Andorian Imperial Guard paid them a visit," said the Ensign. "They often venture into Syndicate space on hunting expeditions and when they fell on this place they put every Orion and Nausicaan to the sword. That's how the Vulcans found the place, it was a bloody mess. They vented the atmosphere along with all the corpses into space then dragged it away from its coordinates in Syndicate space. It takes thirty-six Vulcan cruisers with their tractor beams to move it at warp speed, and a somewhat lessor number to move it at sub-light speeds. It even has berths for almost forty Vulcan battle-cruisers, and you know the size of those ships. Anyway, the Vulcans grabbed it, and now they use it as a mobile base, and it's a hell of a mobile base."

"Damn right," said Trip. "How do the Vulcans know that it was Andorians which destroyed this place?"

"The Andorian Imperial Guards hit a hundred and seventeen Orion bases, all exactly at high noon, Laikan time," said the Ensign. "Laikan is Andoria's capital city. Anyway, the Vulcans were naturally monitoring the gathering of such a number of Andorian battle-cruisers, given their history with the Andorians."

"Did the Orions strike back?" said Malcolm.

"Are you kidding? They scatter like pigeons before the Imperial Guards, unless they outnumber the Andorians by a factor of twenty," said the Ensign. "Here we are, sirs. We're offering room service for the first three days until everyone gets settled in and familiar with the layout. It's just after 14:00 local time, so feel free to order some lunch after you refresh yourselves. Tomorrow you'll get a tour of the place."

"Who's going to tell us why we're here?" said Trip.

"People are still arriving, sir, and they'll keep coming through this day and through the coming night. You'll be briefed at 08:00 tomorrow, sir."

* * *

"You are all about to embark on a magical journey," said Doctor Phlox, facing into the camera, "for Denobula is a magical place. A planet of twelve billion inhabitants, all living on a huge continent, the one and only continent, Denobula is a place of—"

"Ok, that's good, Doctor," said Hoshi, "but the way you're waving your arms around makes me think you're trying to fly."

Phlox laughed, and said, "I am sorry, Ensign. I'm just excited at the thought that the Enterprise is visiting my home."

"I understand, Doctor, but restrain yourself a bit, and your presentation will be that much more effective. We have two more days before we reach Denobula, so let's relax, and let's do it right."

"Yes, Ensign. Thank you."

* * *

"Listen," said Lieutenant Hess. "I know we're all excited to visit Denobula, but no one's going down, unless Engineering is shipshape. No way Commander Tucker is sneaking back aboard and catching us with our drawers down, so let's get it done."

* * *

"So," said Archer to T'Pol, during their nightly meal in the Captain's Mess, "it seems that the entire crew has caught Denobulan fever."

"Denobulan fever, Captain?" said T'Pol, moving her food around the plate absentmindedly.

Chef had cooked T'Pol a delicious lentil and rice pilaf, four falafel and a mint and tomato salad with the merest touch of garlic yet the SubCommander's appetite seemed off.

"Excitement, T'Pol. Everyone's looking forward to our visit there. What about you?"

"I look forward to it as well, Captain. You should take full advantage of it as well. You need some relaxation more than any, to function efficiently."

"I'm fine, T'Pol, but I'll take leave if you do the same."

"Very well," said T'Pol.

The captain's steward entered the room, and said, "Admiral Ryan wishes to speak to you, Captain."

"I'm sorry to be rude, T'Pol," said Archer, rising.

"No matter, Captain. It is about time for my meditation."

Once the Captain had left, the steward approached T'Pol, and said, "I'd be glad to bring you something else, SubCommander. You've barely touched your food."

"Actually, it is quite delicious," said T'Pol. "If you would be kind enough to put it into a go-box, I will eat it after I meditate."

"Yes, SubCommander," said the man, and returned a few minutes later, paper bag in hand.

An hour later, after meditating, she opened the bag to pull out her go-box, and noticed that the steward had slipped in an extra box with her meal. Opening it, she found a palm-sized fruit tart. The man knew that T'Pol had developed a weakness for such things, corrupted by Commander Tucker's insatiable appetite for sweets. Pushing the rest of her food aside, T'Pol sat on the bed and ate her fruit tart by the dim light of her meditation candles.


	25. Chapter 25

**—Chapter 25—**

At 07:50, the day after Malcolm and Trip had arrived at their destination, they filed into the large room in which the briefing was to be held shortly. They looked around at the people assembled in the room, for the composition of these people would tell the discerning viewer something. A dozen Vulcans were present, and by the looks of the uniforms, Trip made out a Rear-Admiral, a dozen ship's captains, which was not surprising given the number of ships at this asteroid. He did not recognize the uniforms of three Vulcans sitting behind the Admiral, and made mention of it to Malcolm.

"They're from the Vulcan Security Directorate," said Malcolm.

Trip nodded, and looked to the last two Vulcans. One he recognized as Seelat, a member of Ambassador Soval's diplomatic mission and said to be his right hand on Earth, the other, seemed to be her assistant.

Among the humans gathered here, Trip recognized Commodore Elkins of StarFleet. He recognized the uniforms of the eight MACOs, a Major, a Captain and six Sergeants, all members of the Military Assault Command Operations group. The MACOs were not associated with StarFleet, so it was curious to see them here. A StarFleet Commander named Patwa, which Trip had met once, but didn't really know very well. Three Lieutenant-Commanders, all good men, and last of all, Erika Hernandez, the StarFleet Captain slated to take command of the Columbia, once she left dry-dock. That she was here, when there were a thousand and one things to oversee during the construction of her own ship was telling. Whatever this was, it was something big. Without preamble, Commodore Elkins stood and began the briefing.

"Welcome to Krwi'ss'ont Tenattr Ka," said Elkins, "which we will refer to as Echo One for the duration of our stay, for the sake of simplicity. We are all here, because it has been decided that together we have the skill and determination to carry through our present mission. As you look around, you are looking at the command structure of this mission. This is a very short briefing, and you'll be given printed material as you leave this room that covers this information in much more detail. The enlisted men will be brought up to speed by each of you in the coming days, and we have printed handouts for them as well. But let's begin with introductions. As I point at you, please stand, state your name, rank and specialty."

The next fifteen minutes were spent on introductions, first by the Vulcans, led by Rear-Admiral Topek, followed by the MACOs, led by Major MacLeod and second, Captain Hayes, followed by the StarFleet cadre, led, of course, by Commodore Elkins, down the last man. When introductions were complete, Elkins spoke again.

"Before we begin the discussion on the topic of our current meeting, we will get some background information, so we will begin with Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed of the Enterprise. Gentlemen, take the podium and describe the mission, during the course of which, the Enterprise responded to a distress call, rescued the survivors of the merchant ship Sultara, and the rescued hundreds of Orion captives."

Trip did so, in a concise manner, aided by Malcolm in the particulars of which he was better informed, especially during the time that Trip was mingling with the captives.

"Thank you," said Elkins, dismissing the duo from the podium. "Now, Major Vilara, of the Vulcan Security Directorate."

The Major took the podium and she spoke briefly of the interrogation of the Orion captives taken during that mission and of the information that had come to light, that certain Vulcan captives were in high demand in Orion market places, while other were ignored, by the apparent buyers, a mysterious group of Vulcans calling themselves Happa.

"Oh, fuck me," thought Trip, at the mention of the Happa, that name bringing up painful memories of Ke'Relle.

Trip then took the podium again, and described the mission into Syndicate space which he, Travis, Malcolm, Hoshi and T'Pol had undertaken to discover the identity of the Happa. He spoke of linking Ke'Relle to the Happa by the insignia on the medallion she'd given him, to the same insignia found on the ring on the Happa they'd captured, temporarily, on their ship.

Major Vilara then briefed them on the course of the hunt for Ke'Relle on Earth and her acts of assassination and attempted large scale act of industrial sabotage stopped by the brave Commander Tucker. During the entire time the Major had spoken of Ke'Relle and of the Commander's bravery in stopping her, Trip had stared, stone-faced, at the ground.

The Major moved on, and stated that Earth's security services, working in concert with the Vulcan security services on Earth, had then reviewed all the deaths and accidental destruction of any facilities and data relevant to defense, space platforms and space ship construction and had come up with hundreds of suspicious facts. The consensus of the security forces was that that an undeclared war was now being waged against Earth, as a preamble to an open war.

The Major then said that the Vulcan security teams had managed to capture a handful of Happa, alive, when they were wounded badly enough to stop them from resisting, but not badly enough to kill them. The rest fought to the death, or committed suicide in order to avoid capture. Most of these prisoners had provided some limited information, but one of them, a high-ranking Happa, had provided something more valuable. He had provided the coordinates of an L Class planetoid, where all the Vulcans bought, were taken.

"Our primary mission," said Commodore Elkins, "is to rescue these Vulcans and capture as many Happa as possible alive, after which we will destroy that base, in order to send a message to the other Happa that the course they've chosen is not wise. Our secondary mission will be to gather as much intelligence as possible before we destroy the base, in addition to any novel weapons or technology the Happa might possess."

Elkins waved to a tech, and an image of the Happa base was displayed on a large wall monitor.

"In service of this mission, the Vulcan Navy sent a small probe to the coordinates of the Happa base and took extensive optical and energetic surveys of this base. This data will be shared with you all in the coming days, but know that we have built an exact copy of this base inside this asteroid which will be invaluable in training for this mission. All together, we have an impressive strike force assembled here. Three Vulcan battle-cruisers, three hundred MACOs, three hundred Vulcan Marines, along with support staff, two hundred medical staff which will look after the wounded, etc…"

"Jesus Christ," said one of the Lieutenant-Commanders. "It sounds like we're storming Omaha beach, sir."

"Close to it," said Elkins. "That base is no joke. These Happa have received military training, and they have heavy weapons emplacements in the camp. All this, even though they're relying mostly on secrecy for protection. If the Vulcans had not gotten lucky in capturing the one Happa that had this base's coordinates, we'd never have found it. It's in a desolate region, off the trade routes.. "Lastly, all the support staff going down to the planetoid, medics, engineering, electronics and computer techs, all of you, will undergo twelve hour days of physical conditioning and combat training by baddest of MACO and Vulcan Marine instructors. You'll be expected to play a role in your own defense so that the front line forces can engage the Happa at will, and if things go bad and something unexpected happens down there, you will be called upon to support the main line combat units. Fun time's over, ladies. Hardship and misery is your lot until this mission is completed successfully. Now, this briefing is over. You'll all be shown around Echo One and its facilities. Dismissed."

* * *

After a two-hour tour of Echo One, both Malcolm and Commander Tucker were officially impressed. Set aside the fact that the asteroid was easily the size of some of the island nations back on Earth, set aside the fact that the Vulcans had built an impressive naval hangar that could hold more than a hundred Enterprises in one of the huge caverns which they'd found and which they had further extended, set aside even the strike force of close to a thousand, when all personnel due to land on the planetoid were accounted for, no, what impressed them both, especially Trip, was that Echo One would host, for the duration of this mission, a genuine human run izakaya - a late night Japanese pub, where one could relax, eat, drink and unwind after a hard day's work. He could smell, just in passing, the delicious scents of yakitori, grilled chicken skewers, and saw a man pull out some karaage, bite sized pieces of fried chicken, while another man sliced fish for sashimi, nearby.

"Ok, we are so coming here tonight," said Trip and Malcolm had agreed.

Thing is, they'd been coming here every night, thought Malcolm ten days later, and Trip couldn't hold his sake as well as he thought he could. In short, the Commander got emotional, when he got drunk.

"I hate you, Malcolm, I really, really, hate you!"

Malcolm laughed. Trip had some cause to be sore with him, for Malcolm had breezed through the physical conditioning part of their regimen, while Trip wheezed like a broken toy. Oh, he wasn't as bad as that, but after a mile's run thorough Echo One, Trip, along with the majority of the support personnel were huffing and puffing, while Malcolm was talking up a storm. At the three mile marker, Trip looked like he was having a stroke, combined with an epileptic attack, while Malcolm was just warming up and laughing as he looked at his shipmate. Accordingly, Malcolm had gotten an impromptu promotion to PT instructor and seemed to take a special delight in busting Trip's balls with extreme prejudice. He didn't have the heart to tell Trip yet that things would just get harder and harder each day – he'd seen the schedule, and strength training was next, followed by plyometrics, followed by unarmed combat training, followed by…

"Do you know how much I hate you, Malcolm? Can you feel it?"

"Look, mate," said Malcolm, throwing arm around Trip's shoulders, slightly emotional himself, for they were in their third bottle of sake, "I do what I do out of love. I love you, man!"

"Stow that shit, Lieutenant! You take pleasure in what you do to me!"

"You're wrong, Trip. I do what I do out of fear, because if I return to the Enterprise without you, T'Pol will spill my guts on the floor, before I can explain that it wasn't my fault!"

"T'Pol?!," said Trip, slurring his words. "What does the SubCommander have to do with me, or your guts on the floor?"

"Oh, please, mate! Every single fucking person aboard the Enterprise knows that you and T'Pol are definitely dating, probably lovers, and maybe even engaged to be married. As a matter of fact, Hoshi and I heard the two of you going at it while passing your door one morning and—"

"Oh, yeah, let's talk about Hoshi! Maybe there's something going on with you and Hoshi? Maybe I'm suspicious of what's going on with you two! Did you ever think of that, Malcolm?"

"There's nothing to discuss, Commander Tucker. For your information, Hoshi and I are openly dating, and we're not ashamed of it – ashamed of some of the things we do, sure, but not of admitting that we are dating, unlike you and T'Pol. Now if you want to keep lying to me, that's fine."

"Oh, Malcolm," said Trip, teary eyed now, "I'm sorry, man. I don't know why I do the things I do. You and Jon are my best friends, and here I'm, I'm… lying to you."

"Forget it, mate," said Malcolm, gesturing to the proprietor, that he should bring another bottle of sake: he was about to hear Trip's confession.


	26. Chapter 26

**—Chapter 26—**

On the twelfth day since her mate's departure, T'Pol furtively entered Trip's quarters – she'd taken to sleeping here, and although a few crewmen had noticed her slipping in or out of the Commander's quarters, they'd all had the decency to pretend that she was invisible.

She slipped out of her clothes and onto the Commander's bunk, settling herself into her meditative pose. Slowly and methodically she severed the lines which held her to this place, and then found herself in her white space, the mental space she used exclusively for meditation. She closed her eyes now, and let herself drift in this void, her worries for the Commander dissipating into this nothingness, her petty aggravations dissipating into this nothingness, her very thoughts stilling, for the essence of this place was peace.

How long she drifted in this void, she could not tell, for timelessness came part and parcel with this place, but gradually, she became aware of a change in her white space, a change in this changeless space, and T'Pol opened her eyes.

Her white space had transformed into darkness, a place of shadows lit only by a single green light, small, but bright. This had never happened before, so T'Pol stood, wary now, her attention drawn to a coffin like box in the middle of the room.

"Why am I here," she thought. "What is this place? What does that coffin contain?"

She could have retreated from this place, back onto the Enterprise, for this place was a mental construct, but it was not her nature to retreat out of fear, so she approached the metal coffin. A single button marred the smooth surface, green colored, lit from the back. This was the source of the light. Taking a deep breath, T'Pol pressed the button and quickly stepped back as the lid slid aside to the left.

Nothing popped out, so T'Pol stepped closer, muscles ready to spring away, should the need arise, yet when she finally saw what the coffin contained, her heart stilled. It was Trip!

She knew he still lived, for once a Bond was severed by a death, the still living partner of the Bond died soon after, either quickly and gracefully, or painfully and in madness, though that sad state was usually medically terminated these days, but the other always died. It was the most unpleasant part of the Bond, but it was more than offset by a lifetime of pleasure and companionship which the unBound could not even imagine.

So, he still lived. What then, this place? A vision of the future? Then the Commander moved slightly, and T'Pol heard the splash of water. She gave a mental groan, for she now felt like a fool.

This 'coffin' was an isolation tank in which the occupant floated on a body of salty water, heated to the temperature of his body, to duplicate the feeling of weightlessness. Further, the tank was soundproofed and completely dark, so that the mind might be set adrift as well. There were several uses for this device, some meditative, but the most common use was as a medical device, to speed physical recovery time in the infirm, or less commonly, the athlete.

This had to be something connected with the Bond she shared with Commander Tucker. She'd never heard of this ability, but then Vulcans were surprisingly secretive about many aspects of the Bond. She drew closer to Trip, to better look upon his face, and slowly reached out to touch him. It was then that she go the shock of her life, for just as the Commander's eyes suddenly popped open and his lips began to curve into a smile, she felt his telepathic sending sliding along the Bond like an electric eel, and felt that sending blossom into the sound of the Commander's voice.

"It's about time, my lovely tel'su. I'd begun to give up hope that you would hear my call."

Tel'su. Bond-mate. I'd begun to give up hope that you would hear my call... That meant that the Commander had done this on purpose, thought T'Pol, and it rankled the SubCommander for a moment, that the male had greater insight into the Bond and it's workings for the first year or so. That slight aggravation was nothing compared to the feeling of standing in the presence of her mate, once again, despite a separation of many light-years.

"Help me out of this tub, T'Pol," said Trip. "I'm probably as wrinkled as a prune!"

"We're in a mental construct, Commander," said T'Pol smartly, as she aided the Commander. "That water is not real."

Trip looked at T'Pol and smiled, while raising his hand to eye-level. It was indeed pruny.

"This mental space responds to our input, T'Pol, so if I expect to be wrinkled, I will be wrinkled."

That made sense to T'Pol, then she said, "Why did you imagine yourself in that isolation tank?"

"I'm in an isolation tank right now, T'Pol. I've been popping into one every day, helps with the visualization and imagery exercises I use to retain what I learned here, then tonight I had the thought to reach out to you. This baby really helps one focus the mind. When I get back to the Enterprise I'm building some of these for the crew."

"Sound idea," said T'Pol, then looked with surprise at the Commander's perverted smile. "Commander?"

"You're nude, T'Pol. Not that I object, mind you."

"Oh, yes," said T'Pol, and keeping in mind the Commander's previous words, made a slight shift of perception, and half the room in which they stood became the Commander's quarters, showing T'Pol's body resting in a trance, as her consciousness lived here, in this place.

"Nice," said Trip. "Hey, those are my quarters!"

"I have missed you, Commander, and I find that sleeping surrounded by your scent ensures that I get a proper regenerative rest. It is logical that I do my best to maximize my efficiency. Do not judge me harshly."

"I will not judge you at all, SubCommander," said Trip, reaching out to caress T'Pol's imaginary breast.

Startled, T'Pol was suddenly clothed in her uniform. It vanished in a second, as if pulled apart in a thousand different directions, under the Commander's influence.

"I apologize, Commander. You have every right to look upon your mate," said T'Pol, and in the blink of an eye Trip found himself naked as well. "I was just startled."

T'Pol's slight smile told Trip that she was both, pleased to see her mate naked, and a quick study, for she'd learned the rules of this place quickly enough.

"There was no need for an apology, T'Pol. I felt your surprise, along the Bond."

"I would love to hear what you have been up to since you left the Enterprise, Commander, but perhaps we could first divert ourselves with something a bit more agreeable," said T'Pol, and suddenly Trip's bunk expanded to the size of king sized bed, a veritable playpen.

T'Pol looked at Trip, and there was something shy in that glance, a very intimate invitation. With the reckless grin of a man charging into battle, Trip tackled T'Pol, taking them both to the mattress for the count. Hours later, satiated for the moment, T'Pol decided to satisfy her curiosity.

"So, tell me Commander, what hav—"

"Damn it!' said Trip, and T'Pol saw the Commander vanish in an instant.

Back in her body, on the Enterprise, T'Pol took note of the time. 06:00. She and the Commander had been in communion since 01:00, when she'd begun her meditations. She was uncertain of what had happened to the Commander, but it did not seem to be anything overly serious. She would take a nap after her shift, then begin her meditations at the same time this coming night and hope that the Commander would do the same.


	27. Chapter 27

**—Chapter 27—**

The trip to Denobula now under their belt, Archer, T'Pol and Doctor Phlox shared an early breakfast, while planning the coming days. Archer watched T'Pol discreetly and contrary to Trip's last absence, his Vulcan SubCommander seemed just fine this time.

Just as well, thought Jon. Eating with a depressed Vulcan had been horrible. T'Pol would eat a few bites, then spend the rest of the meal silently pushing the food around her plate in a clockwise manner, except for days when she felt extra depressed, and on those days she'd go counter-clockwise. His verbal softballs were answered with the briefest of sentences, and just as often ignored, then followed by a series of heart-breaking sighs. Towards the end he'd even started sliding into depression himself.

"Just remember, T'Pol, you've got two speeches to give today, and one tomorrow," said Archer, "then you've got some more next week."

"I remember, Captain," said T'Pol. "I look forward to them."

Knowing her, she probably did, thought Archer. The Denobulans thought well of Vulcan prowess in the sciences and T'Pol looked to be booked their entire stay on various speaking engagements at a number of universities, academies and formal fellowships.

"What about you, Doctor?"

"I'll be heading for my home in the capital city, Loxt. And remember, Captain, you, T'Pol and Hoshi have agreed to come have dinner with us before you leave."

"I remember," said Archer, and T'Pol nodded agreeably.

"How will you be spending your first day on Denobula, Captain?"

"Hoshi and I are visiting the Royal Palace today," said Archer, "and tomorrow we have your Royal Museum and the Denobulan version of Sea World, penciled in."

"Ah, you'll enjoy yourselves, Captain," said Phlox, just as Hoshi entered the Captain's Mess in a fetching dress, a pale yellow, and a pair of heels that did wonderful things for an already attractive figure.

"Ready, Captain?" said Hoshi. "We're losing daylight."

"Right," said Archer.

* * *

Trip closed with Sergeant Temask and after successfully landing two strikes on the Vulcan, he found himself on the mat when the Sergeant tripped him neatly. He only just avoided the head-stomp which was the Sergeant's next move, and rolled to his feet."

"Very nice, Commander Tucker," said Temask, "but not good enough. You lost control."

"Oh, come on, Sergeant! You're asking for perfection."

"And I'll get it from you, Commander Tucker," said Temask, "or they''ll carry you out of here on a stretcher. Again!"

Trip resumed his circular movement around the Sergeant, trying to ignore the mirth on Malcolm's face, each time that rat traitor entered his field of view. A right hook from the Sergeant focused Trip and he changed levels, dropped his center of gravity in preparation to take down the Vulcan with a rush. That was a mistake, for the Vulcan sprawled, engaging Trip in a contest of strength, before batting the human away.

"No, Commander. If you're fighting a stronger opponent, you do not meet that strength head on, and you know that already. You are an intelligent man. Again!"

With a sigh, Trip, resumed his efforts.

"Cheer up, Commander," said Temask, with a nasty grin that said he enjoyed watching the human suffer. "Your day is half over. Only six more hours to go."


	28. Chapter 28

**—Chapter 28—**

A month later, Hoshi, Archer and T'Pol found themselves standing before Phlox' house, honoring their promise to attend a dinner at the Doctor's house before the Enterprise left orbit. It was definitely not what they expected. Instead of living in individual housing units for each family, Denobulan families liven in large complexes, housing hundreds of family members. Only natural, on second thought, considering that each husband had three wives, and each wife, three husbands. When you threw in all the relations, distant and close, well, this is what you got.

Phlox proudly gave them a tour of the complex. It took the form of a sphere, half above ground, half below. The lower portion held the large garage, many storage rooms, kitchens, and so on… The upper level held the many large separate apartments, guest rooms, meeting rooms, reading rooms, dining rooms, etc… all the rooms required for social living. The very center of the complex was left open, for a natural park with an open roof to the sky.

The next few hours were a pleasant chaos of introductions, stories, wonderful foods, more stories, songs and even a dance, and when the Enterprise's crew stumbled out onto the street, they felt as if they'd spent a night with the fairies.

"I hope you enjoyed yourselves," said Dr. Phlox.

All said they had, and the sincerity of their response was gratifying to the Doctor.

"We leave in three days, Doctor," said Jon. "We'll get in touch with your then, Doctor."

"Yes, Captain," said Phlox and after another round of thanks, both ways, the crew left Phlox behind, so that he might enjoy his family a few days longer.

* * *

T'Pol had long fallen into a routine, since the first time she and Trip had made contact in her white space. Now she meditated early while she waited for her lover to join her, and then they tore into each other with a ferocity that was quite as intoxicating as real life, for it felt quite real. Afterwards, they talked for a while, before Trip fell asleep, and vanished, and T'Pol suspected that whatever schedule he was keeping, it was brutal. This night, her mate was late, and when he eventually made an appearance, he moved stiffly.

"What is wrong?" said T'Pol.

"I accidentally got stabbed in the leg today. Don't worry, it wasn't deep. I'll be back in business in a week."

"Stabbed?" said T'Pol. "How?"

"Training accident, T'Pol. Don't sweat it. Let's get cozy."

T'Pol looked at the Commander's legs. He was just wearing a pair of gray cotton shorts, but she noticed nothing unusual, certainly not a stab wound.

"Why don't I see your wound, Commander?"

"You're seeing me as you remember me, T'Pol. My body is not actually there, it's only our minds that are touching. If you imagine the wound, you'll see it. In fact, imagine me even sexier than I am, instead, if that's even possible. Give yourself a treat."

"You are sexy enough for me as it is, Commander," said T'Pol, ignoring her mate's joke. "So, if your wound is only mental, Commander…"

Trip smiled, and said, "You're right. I'm just too exhausted to think straight tonight. Ok, I'm back in business, baby."

T'Pol's silk top vanished as Trip approached, but the Vulcan raised her arm in front of her, palm on the Commander's chest, restraining his ardor.

"What kind of mission are you on, Commander, that you're training for combat?"

"I can't talk about it," said Trip.

"Why? You have always been so vague about it. You have danced around the issue for months now and it was my fault that I allowed you to do so. I was just overjoyed by our new ability to be together even when separated, but now I wish to know the truth. I am your mate, Commander. Your Bonded mate. There should be no secrets between us."

Trip said nothing, and T'Pol would not let up.

"Commander? I am still waiting, and still hoping for an answer from you. I would hope our Bond means as much to you as it does to me."

"Ok, that's dirty fighting, T'Pol," said Trip with a sigh. "You know it does."

"Well…"

"I haven't told you anything about the mission because I didn't want you to worry. But it's a cause you'd respect. A rescue mission."

T'Pol eyed her mate, sampled the Bond, and said, "There is more, Commander. I am still listening."

"It's a rescue mission of the Vulcans bought by the Happa on the Orion markets," said Trip in a monotone.

T'Pol tensed, thinking of their last encounter with the Happa, then Ke'Relle and the damage she had caused the man she loved. But there was no way to help it from the Enterprise…

"It's ok, T'Pol," said Trip, feeling her tension. "There are no more Ke'Relles, no more Happas that I consider friends. It's just business."

"Truly?"

"Yes, T'Pol."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner, Commander?"

"Because I didn't want you to worry yourself sick about me. I know I was a mess after my tangle with Ke'Relle."

"You were," said T'Pol. "But if you say it is just business now, I believe you, Trip. You are my mate, and I believe in you."

Trip smiled, relieved.

"Ok, that wasn't as bad as I imagined it would be, T'Pol."

"How much longer, Commander? How much longer must I wait? This thing we have, this new ability, it means everything to me, but I still want you safe aboard the Enterprise."

"Well, it's been what, three months now? As I understand it, we are waiting for a window of opportunity."

"Explain."

"The Happa keep coming and going, T'Pol, and we're waiting for a sweet spot, numerically speaking. We want the fewest number of Happa present at their base, so that we can steam roll them, and the largest possible number of Vulcans to rescue. The longer we wait, the more Vulcans we rescue, but we can't go on like this forever. Of course, the appearances of any transports will immediately trigger our strike, no matter what."

"Sounds dangerous, Trip."

"We train every day for it, T'Pol, and if we're not training, we're going over the plan, the contingencies, everything. Don't sweat it, baby. I'm support. I'll be at the back of the pack, toasting marshmallows for the troops."

"Of course you will. That is why you are receiving combat training," said T'Pol, not needing the Bond to detect that her mate was trying to protect her once again.


	29. Chapter 29

**—Chapter 29—**

The strike, when it came almost at the five month mark, was sudden. The battle-stations klaxon sounded, followed shortly by an announcement that this was not a drill, and despite the danger, everyone aboard Echo One was ready to go within the hour.

An hour and sixteen minutes after the klaxon had sounded, the heavily shielded, heavily reinforced, and heavily modified StarFleet transport, the Akagi, captained by Erika Hernandez, plunged through the atmosphere of the Happa's planetoid, as above them, three Vulcan battle-cruisers, the Volares, Tek-Marr and Ulan'ta engaged the dozen or so orbiting Happa ships in a pitiless contest of life and death, for despite their smaller size, the Happa ships were heavily armored, well shielded and well armed.

The Akagi headed directly for the Happa camp, enduring withering fire on the way in, for the Happa's alert system was quite effective, but the Akagi's captain was one of the best, as was its helm officer, who avoided the worst of the flak.

There was no subtlety to this plan, no elegant moves. It was short and simple, for even as the Akagi made a fast landing that was just short of a crash in the middle of the camp, the large cargo style doors popped open all along the hull, and the MACOs and Vulcan Marines poured out of the ship in their hundreds, to run for pre-selected points, even as company gunners poured a deadly hail of phaser cannon bolts from the six gun batteries running along the top of the ship towards the Happa's heavy weapons batteries.

Malcolm had gone in with the MACOs of the first wave, and Trip said a silent prayer for him as he led his company of 200 armed engineers with the second wave. Calling themselves Tucker's Ants, they moved through the compound with a purpose, ripping out any piece of technology the Chief Engineer pointed out to them, and carrying it back to the Akagi, all while attacking or defending against attacks from Happas missed by the first wave.

Malcolm led his own platoon of thirty Section 31 operatives, directly to the headquarters of the Happa compound, backed by a hundred MACOs. After taking and inflicting numerous losses, the HQ was secured and Malcolm and his platoon began scooping up any and every scrap of intelligence they could, shortly joined by fifty Vulcans of the Security Directorate.

Everything was settled within the hour. Not a single Happa had offered surrender. All had fought to the death, save for fifty to seventy Happa too badly wounded to do so. They were unconscious, tended to by the medics, shortly after they attended to the badly wounded among the human and Vulcan troops.

A number just shy of five thousand Vulcan captives were found and even the hardest soldiers were touched by the looks on their faces. Some were stoic, some were incredulous that their nightmare was over, some were openly weeping, but all were traumatized. A few even walked up to the MACOs or the Vulcans to touch their faces, as if to make sure they were real. The consensus amongst the rescuers was that this was a mission one could be fucking proud of.

Within six hours, the soldiers, the wounded, the medics and the captive Vulcans were evacuated, leaving behind only the engineers, the computer specialists and the intel weenies to go through the rubble for the least thing of value. Twelve hours after that, an emergency recall was relayed, and the last of the friendlies were pulled off-planet, and the site obliterated by a tactical nuke lobbed from space, just before the four ships went to warp, back to Echo One.

"Commodore," said Malcolm to Elkins. "Respectfully, sir, why the sudden recall? We were scheduled to have a full 24 hours on-site."

"That was a luxury we could not afford, Lieutenant Reed," said Elkins. "We spotted 27 large ship-signs on long range scanners, all headed for our location at high speed. We really don't know shit about these Happa, but they're no joke if they can field military sized vessels. Hope you got us some good intel."

"Yes, sir," said Malcolm, taken aback by this information: the surprises with the Happa just kept coming.


	30. Chapter 30

**—Chapter 30 —**

T'Pol rose in the morning, and the first thing she did was revise the number in her head. That number, now standing at five months and seventeen days, was the measure of time that her mate had been gone on his latest mission. How much longer would it be, before he returned?

Of slightly more concern, was the fact that for the past seventeen days, Commander Tucker had tamped down on his end of the Bond, essentially leaving her blind as to his condition and precluding their private meetings. She would have a good explanation for that fact from the Commander when he returned, of that she had no doubt!

With a sigh, T'Pol engaged in her customary morning routine. Shower, hot tea, meditation. Get ready, get dressed, hit the Mess Hall for a light breakfast, then a short walk to the Bridge. And it was during that walk that T'Pol received a surprise, for as she turned a corner, she saw the Bridge door open and Lieutenant Reed exit the Bridge in civilian clothes. Heart racing she approached the man. If he was here, was it possible that Commander Tucker was also on board? Perhaps on the Bridge, even now. Could he be that close? With the man's damned tamping down of his link to their Bond, it was impossible to know. But she would have an answer for that, oh, yes, she would!

"SubCommander," said Malcolm with a genuine smile as he and T'Pol drew closer, for he'd grown to consider the Vulcan a friend during their recent mission together into Syndicate space.

"Lieutenant Reed," said T'Pol, halting in her tracks, making it clear that she wished to speak to the man. "You are out of uniform."

"It's Lieutenant-Commander now, sir, and I'm off-duty for the next three days," said Malcolm.

"Congratulations," said T'Pol. "I am certain that your promotion was well deserved. I did not hear that you had returned. When did you board the Enterprise?"

"About 04:00, sir. I'm sure that given the ungodly hour, ah… no one wanted to disturb your sleep in order to notify you."

That cursed man! thought T'Pol. It was just like Trip to be considerate of her to a fault. As if I cared what time of day or night he returned, or that I would give a damn about sleep in the face of his return.

"I see," said T'Pol. "Has Commander Tucker returned with you, by any chance?"

"Yes, sir," said Lieutenant-Commander Reed. "He just left the Bridge, after speaking to Captain Archer."

"I did not happen to run into him yet. He is well?"

"He's just fine, SubCommander."

"And is he also relieved of duty for the next three days?"

"He is, SubCommander. We're both meant to have a short rest before returning to duty, and Commander Tucker is celebrating something quite special."

"What is that, Lieutenant-Commander Reed?"

"During the course of this mission, we found ourselves back in Syndicate space. Trip… that is to say, Commander Tucker, took the opportunity to marry Misri the dancer, and her younger sister, Havli. He brought them back to the ship and he's officially on a three day honeymoon, I guess."

T'Pol's heart stilled. Lieutenant-Commander Reed had said that in the most matter-of-fact voice, as if such madness was of no consequence. Certainly, she and Trip had never openly acknowledged their relationship, but many people had strong suspicions. Lieutenant-Commander Reed should definitely be aware of their relationship, given the time he had spent around them both.

"Married?" said T'Pol.

"Yes, sir."

"Married?!"

"Yes, sir."

"I see," said T'Pol, and she did indeed see, for this would explain why her 'mate' had tamped down on his side of the Bond. "Carry on."

"Yes, sir," said Malcom.

A moment later, T'Pol approached Captain Archer, in his Ready Room.

"Yes, T'Pol," said Archer.

"I have a favor to ask of you," said T'Pol, "if it would not greatly inconvenience you, Captain."

"I'm listening," said Archer, eyeing T'Pol.

"I was wondering if I might take the next three days off. I can make it up later, Captain."

"Yeah, sure," said Archer. "You're the hardest working crewman I have. It's not a problem, T'Pol."

"Thank you, Captain," said T'Pol, and turned smartly on her heels to leave the Bridge and find the good Commander: he had some explaining to do.

Jon waited until the SubCommnader had left the room, before he smiled, and said, "Go get him, T'Pol!"

* * *

"Computer," said T'Pol from the nearest console after leaving the Bridge, and the answering chime notified the SubCommander that the computer was awaiting her input. "Locate Commander Tucker."

"Commander Tucker is in Gymnasium 3," said the ship's computer.

"How long has he been there?"

"Eight point three minutes," answered the computer.

Eight point three minutes, thought T'Pol. He just got there. Gym 3 was basically an empty room, covered in impact mats. It was used for gymnastics training, combat training and the frequent boxing or wrestling matches which she knew saw quite a bit of money change hands, even though gambling was officially forbidden. After a brief stop to change into her workout clothes, T'Pol headed for Gym 3.

She entered Gym 3 minutes later, heart beating nicely with anticipation. Five men were in the gym, and one of them was Commander Tucker. The man actually had the temerity to smile at her, she noted, and this after worrying her for five months and seventeen days, and topped off by the outrage of returning with two Orions wenches to warm his bed!

"Clear the room," said T'Pol, standing poised and serene.

Everyone moved for the door, Commander Tucker among them, as if she would actually allow him to make his escape! The man was only digging a deeper grave for himself with his antics!

"Not you, Commander Tucker," said T'Pol, who had eyes only for Trip as the other crewmen passed her. "You stay."

When the room was cleared, save for the two of them, T'Pol moved to the wall console.

"Computer,"said T'Pol, and the computer chimed in response. "Seal the room."

The chime confirmed that Gym 3 was now sealed, ensuring that no one would walk in on them, and interrupt their discussion. Now she had the privacy needed to deal with her rebellious mate.

"You have been absent for five months and seventeen days, Commander Tucker, and yet, when you finally returned, you did not see fit to pay visit to your mate, who was worried sick about you this whole time. Why is that, Commander Tucker?"

"We got in kind of early, T'Pol," said Trip with a winning smile, "and I didn't want to wake you."

T'Pol turned a jaded eye on Trip, ignoring the man's smile, for she was having none of it.

"I will accept that, Commander Tucker, though I say you should have awakened me, just the same. I assure you that your return means more to me than a few hours of lost sleep," said T'Pol. "But then, you know I wake at 06:00 hours, and yet, I did not see you at that time either."

"I was actually hoping to surprise you after your shift, T'Pol, when we could really show our appreciation for the other in a most agreeable way. I swore everyone to silence, but the fact that you knew I was aboard tells me you ran into Malcolm."

"I did... You seem to have all the answers today, Commander, so I have one more question. What you have brought back with you from Syndicate space?"

"Question, questions, SubCommander. I came here to train," said Trip, with a smile.

Though T'Pol longed to taste her mate, the man's reserve after not seeing his mate for five months and seventeen days, was infuriating, and lent credence to the theory that he had indeed returned to the Enterprise with two Orions wenches in tow.

"You want to train, Commander?" said T'Pol, closing to between 11 and 11.2 feet of the Commander. "Let us train."

They used to come here to practice their unarmed combat skills a couple of times a week before this latest mission, and though the Commander had some nice moves, he was outclassed by T'Pol's Vulcan strength and training.

Trip stripped his bulky sweat shirt and slid out of his long sweat pants. T'Pol's eyes widened involuntarily, her pupils dilated.

Although she'd always found the man attractive as he was, he'd changed in the past five months. His increased musculature was noticeable, most agreeably so. It was nothing freakish, but he'd put on twenty to thirty pounds of muscle, and spread out across his body it gave the Commander an even more athletic look. She would have to encourage him to maintain it, that is unless he was truly married to a couple of Orion sisters. In that case his newly discovered athletic look was unimportant, for she would kill him with her bare hands.

T'Pol closed the distance between them in a rush in order to aim a low front kick at the Commander's stomach. The Commander's usual response had been to fall back and regroup, but this time he neatly sidestepped T'Pol kick, and hooked her supporting foot with his own, while pushing forcefully forwards on her torso, then down into the mat. T'Pol went down, but almost as soon as her back hit the mat, she rolled backwards to gain her feet.

She was wary now. Perhaps muscle was not all that her mate had gained during his absence. She closed the distance more carefully now, until she saw an opening in his guard. She rushed forward, only to realize at the last moment that the Commander had invited the attack by purposely leaving a hole in his guard, a purported weakness, to tempt her. Despite her superior strength, the Commander used leverage to his advantage,  
gained control of her lead hand for a moment, and she felt his foot gently tap against the side of her knee. He could have broken her knee with a more forceful kick.

"What HAVE you been up to in the past five months and seventeen days, Commander?" said T'Pol. "Your skills have improved."

"Maybe you've just gotten soft in my absence, SubCommander," said Trip, circling her like a shark, calmly looking for an opening, for although T'Pol was formidable, she was less than the 200+ pound Vulcan marines that had been beating the crap out of him on a daily basis for the past five months.

"And whose fault is that?" said T'Pol, a hint of emotion in her voice. "You abandoned me without even telling me why!"

"You know very well that I was not briefed on the mission until after I'd left the Enterprise, and I did not abandon you, T'Pol," said Trip. "I went for a purpose that I'm sure you'll find most agreeable, and I came back with a surprise I believe you will appreciate."

'A surprise? He can't mean those two Orion hussies of his! He just can't!' thought T'Pol. 'I will not share my mate!'

She closed the distance with her mate once again, in a controlled manner, exploding only at the last second, yet the Commander blended with her charge and guided her body and thus channeled her energy, until he suddenly reversed directions, bringing T'Pol to the ground in a neatly done maneuver and after a few moments of grappling, T'Pol found herself on her back, the Commander beneath her. His legs were hooked over her thighs, while his left hand was hooked over her throat and secured by his right hand. T'Pol had no choice. She tapped.

Trip released T'Pol and a moment later they resumed their maneuvers. She noted that the Commander now possessed the state which Vulcans called skon'ta, a continual state of relaxed awareness. Trip had expressed that quality in attack or defense even before this latest mission, but in between those two states there was a slackness, an undesirable gap in awareness that allowed T'Pol to bypass Trip's defenses quite often, if she staggered her timing to an unpredictable tempo. Skon'ta was an instinctive awareness that came of careful instruction and long hours in training, bypassing the conscious mind and allowing creativity, training and focus to control the back and forth flow of the fight. T'Pol had also noted the indirect approach which the Commander had brought to the fight. It seemed tailor made to fight a stronger opponent, and his instructors had been good, very good.

Let's see how good, thought T'Pol, and truly focused on winning now. She adjusted her range with care and closed with Commander Tucker at a staggered tempo meant to confuse him, but he made the adjustment without mistake, so T'Pol went for broke. She jumped at Trip, correctly anticipated his response and got past his defenses to land a solid, open handed blow to his chest. The strike knocked Trip backwards and off his feet.

My point, thought T'Pol, and went in for the kill, only to be checked as Trip kicked out from the ground and landed a solid hit on the shin of T'Pol's lead leg. T'Pol went down and Trip pounced atop her like a leopard. She put him in her guard, her legs wrapped around his torso, and that's when things went south, for Trip started peppering T'Pol's face with kisses. This was definitely not a standard offensive move, and it was not a move which T'Pol was trained to resist, but she had to be strong, until they settled the issue with the Orion sisters.

"Your place, or mine, SubCommander?" said Trip, chipping at T'Pol's resolve.

"What?"

"You heard me. Your place or mine?"

"No, no," said T'Pol. "We have to talk about the Orions."

Trip said, "We can talk about Orions later."

"No, no, Commander Tucker. We have to talk about them now."

"Ok," said Trip, in between kisses. "What about the Orions?"

"Lieutenant-Commander Reed told me about Misri and Havli. How could you do that to me? To us!"

"Tell me quickly what you're speaking of, T'Pol."

T'Pol got Malcolm's story out in between Trip's kisses, but just barely, for his kisses were intoxicating, and his familiar and possessive touch of her body threatened her emotional control beyond all reason. When it all came together for Trip, he started laughing, and laughing, and laughing, only to eventually roll off T'Pol and onto the floor, a helpless mess, red faced, coughing and gasping for breath, and as T'Pol witnessed this sequence of events, she realized she'd been taken for a ride, and swore a terrible vow of vengeance against Lieutenant-Commander Reed.


	31. Chapter 31

**—Chapter 31—**

Later than night after their third fierce bout of catching up and making up, Trip pulled out a large envelope and drew out some documents. He handed them to T'Pol.

"This is what it was all about, T'Pol," said Trip, handing T'Pol the envelope. "I would have gone anyway if I'd known about the Vulcans, but this is what it was all about originally."

T'Pol eagerly scanned the documents, picking out the relevant parts:

To: Commander Charles Tucker and SubCommander T'Pol of Vulcan, daughter of Ellak and T'Les.

From: StarFleet HQ, Admiralty Commission.

It has come to the attention of the Admiralty that the two of you are mated/married and it is our pleasure to officially recognize your union, granting you all the benefits that go along with that status, so far as StarFleet is concerned. It addition, we have decided to follow Vulcan custom in the matter of your posting. You will be allowed to serve together openly as a mated couple. Lastly, should SubCommander T'Pol ever sever connections with the High Command for any reason at all, she may, if she so wishes, enter service with StarFleet at a proper rank, taking in account her acts of service to StarFleet.

T'Pol noted the signatures of the three admirals, along with the seal of the Admiralty Commission. She looked at Trip with wonder.

"That's binding on their successors as well, T'Pol. That's the gift I was speaking of. We don't have to worry, or hide, any more. I know, that you've been worried about us being separated from each other, for quite a while.

"I was, Trip," said T'Pol, and she truly felt a great weight fall from her. "This is a wonderful gift."

* * *

T'Pol came across the recently frocked Lieutenant-Commander Reed and one of his men as they worked to slide a heavy weapons locker against the wall. She stopped in front of the two men. StarFleet was a newly launched exploratory service rather than a military service, so that the standards were somewhat more relaxed, but both men straightened and stood at attention, if a bit more casually than soldiers.

"SubCommander," said Malcolm.

T'Pol looked at Malcolm for a moment, then turned to Crewman Martinez.

"Move along, Crewman," said T'Pol.

"Yes, sir," said Martinez, gladly, for he was certain that Lieutenant-Commander Reed was about to get reamed.

Lieutenant-Commander Reed had the same feeling.

"Lieutenant-Commander Reed, you are an intelligent and capable man."

"That is true, SubCommander," said Malcolm, knowing he was about to be taken down, and determined to go down swinging.

"Shut up," said T'Pol.

"Yes, sir."

"As I was saying. You are an intelligent man and you are close friends with Commander Tucker, so I am certain that you have figured out that Commander Tucker and I are mated, married in your human parlance."

"Yes, sir."

"And yet, not long ago, when I asked you of Commander Tucker, you told me that he had taken on two new mates. Misri and Havli. Do you recall that conversation?"

"Yes, sir, but I can explain."

"I am certain that I will find your explanation fascinating, Lieutenant-Commander Reed. Go."

"Yes, sir. Commander Tucker ordered that if I should cross paths with you before he did, he said to make up something funny to rattle your cage. That means to—"

"I know what it means," said T'Pol, and with an effortless strength, she tipped the heavy weapons locker on its face with a resounding boom. "See, now I am rattling your cage, Lieutenant-Commander Reed. It is fortunate for you that my mate was the instigator of your deception, for otherwise I had a most unpleasant end for you in sight."

"Yes, sir."

"For future reference, Lieutenant-Commander Reed, I would suggest that you do not make jokes on a similar topic ever again. I find such jokes… slightly irritating."

"I understand, SubCommander," said Malcolm.

"Make certain that at you do," said T'Pol. "Now clean this mess up. A weapons locker should be secured vertically to a wall, not laying horizontally on the floor."

"Yes, sir," said Malcolm, sensing that perhaps T'Pol had a slight jealous streak in her.


	32. Chapter 32

— **Chapter 32—**

A month had passed since the joint rescue mission of the five thousand Vulcan slaves purchased in Orion Syndicate markets by the Happa, and as the rescue mission had been conducted by a joint strikeforce of Vulcan Navy/Marines allied with StarFleet personnel and MACO troops, the intelligence data gathered by that mission was likewise shared between the Vulcans and the Humans.

The Vulcan captives were all debriefed, and then gently mind-probed, both to ascertain further data which they might not have consciously recollected, as well as make certain that no Happa were mixed among the captives, given the Happa's essentially Vulcan physiology. Furthermore, the fifty or so wounded and captured Happa were interrogated, as well as forcefully mind probed by Vulcan V'Shar operatives in no mood to coddle these Happa given their crimes against Vulcans, and slowly a picture began taking shape.

These people were the Rihansu, and the name Happa was just a ruse, and the Rihansu were the dark side of the Vulcan soul, repudiated when Vulcan had chosen to follow Surak's Way of logic, save for a sizable portion of the population, who had chosen to retain their passions and their wars, and left Vulcan to seek a new homeworld amongst the stars.

"We will have to call Soval in on this," said V'Tek, a section chief in the V'Shar, the Vulcan Security Directorate, and the Vulcan in charge of this operation. "He will have to brief EarthGov and StarFleet's Admiralty Commission, while I brief our counterparts in StarFleet Intelligence."

"As you say, V'Tek," said his lieutenant. "I will contact Soval now, and begin to put things in motion."

"Good," said V'Tek.

"It is finally happening," said the lieutenant, for Vulcans had long expected that one day, their long departed brothers would return to Vulcan, and the bifurcation of the Vulcan soul would once more be expressed in the physical plane, though as the centuries had passed without contact, they had begun to hope that he Rihansu had gone their own way in peace, and forgotten the Vulcans.

"Yes," said V'Tek, thoughtfully. "Go now."

* * *

This same month had been spent in a much more meaningful fashion by Trip, at least so far as he and T'Pol were concerned. The first thing he'd done, once their three days of leave had passed and he'd managed to crawl out of T'Pol's bed, was to share the Admiralty Commission's documents with the captain.

"You magnificent bastard!" said Archer, giving Trip an Italian style kiss on both cheeks. "About time you officially made an honest Vulcan out of T'Pol! The girl's a catch!"

"Yep," said Trip, "she's a good egg."

"So official recognition of your relationship with T'Pol was the payoff for participating in this last mission of yours?" said Archer, curious over the matter.

"Actually, I didn't really care about their recognition," said Trip. "What I did care about was the promise that I could openly serve with my wife, Jon, that we wouldn't be separated from each other by StarFleet."

"I see," said Archer. "What if the High Command decides to transfer T'Pol? This was always supposed to be a temporary assignment for her."

"She's already notified the High Command that we are tel'su, Bondmates," said Trip. "That's an insoluble tie as far as Vulcans are concerned, but if they try anything, T'Pol is prepared to resign her commission, and offer her services to StarFleet."

"Well, I'm all for it," said Jon. "I'd hate to lose either of you. What can you tell me about your last mission?"

"We rescued about five thousand captive Vulcans, and confiscated a couple of hundred examples of alien technology," said Trip. "Other than that, I don't know anything, but I believe that if it goes anywhere we'll be in the thick of it. I think that's why HQ is keeping the Enterprise so close at hand, instead of sending us back out there to explore."

"Makes sense," said Archer, filling in the blanks: the Happa were somehow involved in this whole mess, somehow. "Call T'Pol now. Let's have a celebratory lunch. I have some good champagne on ice."

"That sounds great," said Trip, "but before I call T'Pol, I have a favor to ask of you."

"So ask," said Jon.

* * *

"Oh, yeah," said Trip, after a deep sigh, "that feels good."

The Chief Engineer laid flat on his stomach in T'Pol's bunk as the Vulcan straddled his back, and worked skillfully to release tension in the man's back, and as she did so, her mind reached out to him through the psychic Bond they shared, gently probing for information, only to have her inquiries deflected by the man with a skill that was surprising for one not raised with psychic sensitivity. Time for more mundane tactics.

"So what have you been up to lately, Commander Tucker?" said T'Pol. "I know that you are involved in some sort of mischief."

"Mischief?" said Trip. "What mischief?"

"I haven't seen you for weeks now," said T'Pol. "We lunch together, and you come to my quarters every night, but other than that, you're impossible to get hold of these days. Once your shift ends, you lock yourself in your cabin, and you never answer the door. I've even been forbidden to approach your quarters by the captain."

"Well, you'll have to talk him about that, T'Pol," said Trip. "It was his order."

"Once," said T'Pol, speaking as if Trip had not even made his objection, "I even 'accidentally' forgot his orders, and tried to enter your quarters."

"Did you now?" said Trip, with a barely suppressed smile.

He'd added T'Pol to his security protocol exceptions after they'd Bonded, giving her fingerprint access to his quarters, as she had given him the same access to her quarters, but he'd recently rescinded that access for T'Pol, with good cause.

"Yes, I did," said T'Pol. "Curiously, I was denied access."

"That's odd," said Trip. "I'll have to check it out. Must be some kind of a glitch in the system."

"A glitch," said T'Pol, still rubbing her mate's back. "I then attempted a security override. I was also denied access. That is a StarFleet violation, if I am not mistaken. I am your superior officer. You can not bar entry to a superior officer, Commander Tucker. Turn over."

T'Pol lifted her weight from Commander Tucker, and the man spun round beneath her to then rest on his back, and then T'Pol sat down once more, straddling her mate as her hands rested on his chest. His busy hands refused to rest though, as the man apparently felt free to caress her thighs, and given that she was just wearing a green silk nightie and a black thong, the man's hands were not restrained, and soon after they were caressing her backside in a most agreeable way.

"As a matter of fact, my dear T'Pol," said Trip, "you're not my superior officer. You're not StarFleet. I just happen to consider you a fine officer so I usually choose to act on your mostly logical suggestions."

T'Pol frowned at that. Her mate was correct. She was still officially on loan from the High Command, and the computer would have no reason to grant a visitor access to the commander's quarters. She'd integrated herself so completely into this crew, that she'd forgotten that she was not one of them… officially, at least. Well, that was something to consider another day, so far as T'Pol was concerned, for she recognized her mate's maneuver to distract her from her initial point.

"That still does not answer my questions, Commander Tucker," said T'Pol. "What are you doing in your quarters, and why are you being so secretive about it?"

"You're being silly, T'Pol," said Trip. "I'll check things out, and you'll have your access to my quarters back in no time at all."

As a former V'Shar operative, T'Pol noted the subtle signs of deception in her mate, but she knew better than to mistrust the man. They'd been through too much, and he'd proven himself too many times to count. Whatever mischief he was involved in behind closed doors, he meant her no harm. Of that she was certain.

"If you say so," said T'Pol, content to let Trip play his games.

* * *

Captain Archer received a high priority encrypted communique, as had every other StarFleet personnel of captain rank, and above. Ambassador Soval had briefed the President of EarthGov, as well as StarFleet's Admiralty's Commission on their intelligence findings, where the Rihansu were concerned, and the information was troubling.

Apparently these Rihansu were purchasing Vulcan captives from the Orions and going over their genetic code with a fine comb, seeking to isolate the genetic sequences which corresponded with Vulcan psychic powers, and presumably comparing it with their own genetic code, for some of the psychic Vulcan captives had subtly probed the Rihansu, and determined that the Rihansu wished to discover if they still had the innate capability to develop psychic disciplines, and powers, and further they determined that if the Rihansu found that such genetic sequences no longer existed within their own genetic code, they would breed them back into the race, using the captive Vulcans.

More troubling still, the psychic readings taken by the captive Vulcans during their imprisonment, combined with aggressive mind probes of the captured Rihansu by the V'Shar, made it clear that these people, these Rihansu, were an offshoot of the Vulcan species who had departed Vulcan during the Time of Awakening, after angrily rejecting Surak's message of logic and controlled passions as the new guiding principle of Vulcan life, and moreso they viewed Vulcan's adoption of Surak's Way as an insult to the true Vulcan soul, and the Vulcans, traitors one and all.

Worst of all, it seemed that these Rihansu were determined to war on the Vulcans, sooner or later, and the fact that they'd conducted sabotage and assassinations on Earth and Earth's colonies, using agents such as Ke'Relle, meant that the Rihansu meant to war on Humans as well, for being allied to Vulcan. Accordingly, both StarFleet, and the Vulcan High Commmand began preparing for war, and the first step was this, letting the facts be known, and getting everyone's mind in the game.

The first thing agreed upon, was to say nothing of the Rihansu, and their shared heritage with Vulcans, at least for now. If word of the Rihansu got out among Vulcans, it would agitate them greatly, for the realization that brother would soon kill long lost brother would be a most illogical, and yes, painful, thought. Better to allow brother to kill brother among the stars, and keep that fact from the Vulcan populace at large, until and unless circumstances made that admission absolutely necessary.

As far as Humans went, if news that Vulcans were related to these Rihansu and were almost identical in appearance, both Vulcans and Rihansu agents would come under much closer scrutiny, which was good, but the intelligence services would then be flooded with millions of bits of irrelevant data when every Human started seeing a Rihansu agent in any Vulcan: no the intelligence services would track their Rihansu quarries in the shadows, and war with the Rihansu in the shadows. Accordingly, both Earth and Vulcan agreed to name this enemy, Romulan, and leave it at that.

* * *

T'Pol, who as a Vulcan needed less sleep than Humans, woke in the middle of the night, 04:00 hours to be precise. She was acutely aware that Trip had left her bed, as he did quite often these past few weeks, doing whatever he was doing… With a yawn, and a sigh, T'Pol rose, slipped into a silk robe and headed to the Mess Hall for some hot coffee. She had four hours to kill before her shift on the Bridge, so she resolved to crank out some personnel reviews which she'd been pushing aside for days now, only to be distracted by the sight of Commander Tucker, dressed in a worn overall suit, and quite incomprehensibly sleeping at their usual table, head down on the table, cup of coffee next to his head. T'Pol determined that the coffee was barely warm, and barely touched, so Trip had fallen asleep shortly after coming here for coffee. She slipped the cup from his hand, and got two new coffee cups, hot, and sat next to the man, looking at him with quiet amusement for a bit.

Eventually, she had enough of that, and shouted, "Warp Core Breach! Warp Core Breach!"

Trip shot bolt upright, then looked round the Mess Hall, dazed. He groaned when he saw T'Pol, and realized that she was simply tormenting him, and sat back down at the table. As a peace offering, T'Pol slid one of the coffee cups to her mate.

"That was a nasty thing to do to an engineer, T'Pol," said Trip, running a hand over his face.

"So," said T'Pol, ignoring the commander's words, "you leave my warm bed, to come sleep in the Mess Hall?"

"It's your fault," said Trip. "You hog all the blankets, and I freeze."

"Nonsense," said T'Pol, knowing that the commander's accusations were untrue. "Now I have had enough of this game, Trip. Time for you to come clean with me."

"Fine," said Trip, with a weary smile. "Come to my quarters after your shift."

"Can I get in," said T'Pol, "or am I still locked out?"

"You're still locked out," said Trip, "so call Engineering before you leave the Bridge."

"So you admit that you locked me out!" said T'Pol. "I knew it was no malfunction."

"You got me," said Trip, standing. "I'm going to take a shower, then stretch out for three hours of sleep."

As the Mess Hall was empty at this hour, Trip bent down in order to taste T'Pol's lips at his leisure, before leaving the Mess Hall, and a satisfied Vulcan behind.

'I finally get to see the renovations to his quarters," said T'Pol, for the logic was inescapable, and she was certain that Commander Tucker had spruced up his quarters, in preparation for rendering invitation to his mate to move in with him.

A seemingly long eight hours later, T'Pol made her way for Commander Tucker's quarters, only to be greeted by the man, cloth sash in hand. The commander made motion with his hand, and T'Pol spun wordlessly, waiting impatiently as Trip blindfolded her, then led her into his quarters. A faint scent of varnish and cleaner tickled her nose, and Trip heard her sniffle.

"Yeah, we'll give it a day or two to air out," said Trip, as he removed T'Pol's blindfold. "What do you think?"

T'Pol was speechless.

Trip had apparently gotten permission from the captain to expand his quarters, so he'd removed the starboard wall in order to expand into the next cabin, essentially doubling the space in his quarters. More so, it was clear that Trip had stripped everything, and then rebuilt everything, yielding a long rectangular room with three large portholes, and one small porthole in each bathroom.

"Oh, this is nice, Trip," said T'Pol, slipping out of her boots, and running her feet across the firm but supportive mat which covered the floor, and was a great improvement over the heated, but still hard metal floor she'd become used to since boarding the Enterprise. "What is this?"

"Risan floor matting," said Trip. "We took on enough to cover some three thousand square feet when we thought we'd ferry their ambassador to Earth, but when that was delayed due to the ambassador's heart attack, we were stuck with it.

"It is so luxurious," said T'Pol, and then her eyes were drawn to the now textured walls. "And the walls? They're beautiful!?"

Trip had left half the walls plain steel, and applied stucco in the Italian style on the other half of the walls, giving them variety, and enhancing the beauty of the space.

"It looks like Vulcan stone!"

"That was the idea," said Trip with a smile, pleased that his work was appreciated.

T'Pol was blown away.

"The furniture!" said T'Pol. "When did you buy it? It's beautiful."

"I made it, T'Pol," said Trip. "The reason you like it, is because there's a common thread running through Human Art Deco, Japanese aesthetics and the Vulcan design motif which I used as inspiration for the furniture. Mostly to do with straight lines, a purposeful restraint and an expression of quality through painstaking attention to the smallest details, and I've kept the uncluttered feel to our quarters with tons of built in shelves, furniture and cabinetry."

That was apparent even to T'Pol's untrained eye, as the port wall was concealed floor to ceiling, end to end with a large cabinet with a dozen some doors, and when she opened one door, noted that the large cabinet was some two feet deep. She closed the door, turned, and ran her hand over the elegant table Trip had built, admiring the sheen given the table top by a dozen or more layers of lacquer. She raised brow at Trip.

"I do most of my paperwork in my office in Engineering," said Trip, "so you can use it for your work if you like, and if we ever feel like it, we can host a dinner party. It seats eight people."

T'Pol nodded, eyes lingering over the elegant chairs, then back to the cabinet, then the table.

"As you can see, I have the framework of the couches already built, but I thought I'd leave the fabric choices up to you," said Trip. "I built a long, rectangular coffee table to go with the couches, and a long narrow shelf to line that wall, but it's still in Engineering, as I have to lacquer it a dozen times or so before I bring it here."

"This is all sooo beautiful, Trip," said T'Pol, "Functional and elegant in equal measures."

She peeked into Trip's original bathroom, and noted that while it had been updated and rebuilt, it looked much the same.

"Come check out our master bathroom," said Trip, and T'Pol followed eagerly.

They had to walk through the bedroom, and T'Pol noted that same built in cabinetry which she was certain would come in so handy, and noted that the queen sized modern bed was laid atop a dais. Though she found it an attractive styling choice, she raised brow at that, out of curiosity.

"That bed will serve as an altar on which I'll do unspeakable things to you, T'Pol," said Trip, with a perverted grin on his face.

"I am looking forward to that, Commander Tucker," said T'Pol, admiring the bedroom, only to move towards the bathroom, when Trip motioned her over.

The sink and the toilet had been removed from this bathroom, and the entire room had been waterproofed with tile and glass.

"This side of the room is a shower or a sauna," said Trip, "depending on what you're in the mood for."

He pointed out the custom made shower heads in the ceiling and the additional water jets projecting out horizontally from the walls, and then pointed out the wide bench seat for use when in sauna mode, and all this contained within a glass enclosure, then led T'Pol through that enclosure to show her an impressive looking copper tub, with sides six inches thick, shaped round and tall, rather than the more common shape, low and long, of the Human tubs she'd seen before. T'Pol raised brow at that.

"Come on," said Trip, climbing into the empty tub fully dressed, and helping T'Pol climb in. "It's an Japanese style soaking tub. You sit in it, on purpose made ledges, rather than stretch out in the tub. That side is yours. It's a bit higher."

"It's very, very, nice," said T'Pol, practically feeling herself submerged in hot water to her chin. "Let us try it out tonight!"

"Ok."

"I love it all, Trip," said T'Pol truthfully. "We had best not allow Captain Archer to see your quarters, or he will commandeer them for himself."

"Our quarters," said Trip, "and he's already seen them this morning, but I'm paying him off with some custom work in his own cabin, so we're good."

"I did not know that Captain Archer could be so corrupt as to blackmail you, or accept a bribe," said T'Pol.

"You have no idea," said Trip with a laugh, because Jon truly could play some truly dirty pool sometimes.


	33. Chapter 33

— **Chapter 33—**

StarFleet acted quickly on the information given them by Soval, and gave the Enterprise a mission to complete. They were to ferry Soval aboard a StarFleet vessel, to Andoria, Tellar, Xyrillia, Lorillia and Denobula Triaxa. They were to perform this task in order to show them all that Earth stood with Vulcan, and invite them all to appoint a special envoy to Earth, in order that they might all discuss this Romulan menace which threatened this entire sector of space. The chances of war would be greatly diminished if they all stood together.

The Enterprise paid call to Denobula and Tellar, and picked up a special envoy from each planet in short order, an envoy willing at least to listen and discuss the matter at hand. The Andorians were a tougher nut to crack, as they did not much care for the thought of working with Vulcans, but here Captain Archer revealed an unexpected side to his personality and extracted an envoy from the Andorians, mostly due to his terrier like tenacity that simply would not accept any other outcome. Soval, watching the Human state his case and fight doggedly for it, wisely kept his tongue, realizing that the ill mannered captain was an effective diplomat, at least where the Andorians were concerned.

Next on the itinerary was Xyrillia, and then Lorillia, and as the Enterprise was required to pass by Vulcan on the way to Xyrillia, the High Command sent orders that T'Pol was to report personally to them on her experiences working with an all Human crew, and T'Les, T'Pol's mother let it be known that she expected T'Pol to visit with her as well during her visit to the planet, so in the interest of efficiency, the captain decided to drop T'Pol off on Vulcan on the way to Xyrillia, leave her there while negotiating with both the Xyrillians and the Lorrilians, and pick her up on the way back to Earth.

* * *

"Is it true that you have Bonded with a Human, T'Pol?" said V'olek, one of five members of the High Command.

"Yes," said T'Pol, standing poised and at attention, hands clasped behind her back, as she faced the most powerful Vulcans on the planet.

"Why?" said V'olek.

"It was the logical thing to do," said T'Pol.

"How so?" said V'olek.

"I realized one day that I did not wish to live without my mate in my life," said T'Pol, "but I must have subconsciously come to that decision long before I became consciously aware of that fact."

"Name the Vulcan priest who performed your Binding," said T'Lenn, an aged Vulcan female, and a staunch traditionalist, who most likely disapproved of this union, though she was far too disciplined to allow any emotions to show on her face. "I wish to personally question his logic in performing the Bonding rituals with an off-worlder."

"There was no priest involved," said T'Pol. "The Bond sparked to life of its own volition."

"Is that so?" said T'Lenn, clearly doubtful. "That is a most unusual occurrence, T'Pol."

"Yet it is true," said T'Pol, "and the Bond exists."

"You do not mind if we have a priest verify this fact, do you?" said T'Lenn.

"If you feel you must," said T'Pol.

"I do," said T'Lenn.

"I would like to hear about your experiences aboard the Enterprise now, and the manner in which Humans face challenges," said High Councilor V'Las, the most powerful Vulcan on the council. "Let us discuss that for now, T'Pol."

"As you wish, High Councilor," said T'Pol.

T'Pol began narrating her experiences since being assigned to the Enterprise, and the High Council listened without interruptions. When T'Pol's narrative was concluded, they began asking questions, and did so for the next three hours, before dismissing her for the day, and freeing T'Pol to visit her mother.

* * *

"So," said T'Les, T'Pol's mother, glancing across the rim of her tea cup at her daughter, "you are now mated to a Human."

"I am," said T'Pol calmly: when she'd been a child she'd been quite intimidated by T'Les's strength, and truthfully, that was true even now to a lessor degree, but most definitely not where her mate or their Bond was concerned. "What of it?"

"To tie yourself to an off-worlder, and an emotional Human at that," said T'Les, "was a mistake."

"I disagree."

"Are you two joined by Human matrimony, or Vulcan Bond?" said T'Les, meaning, are you joined by a Human legal contract, or a Vulcan's psychic bonds.

"Bond," said T'Pol, and noted T'Les's surprise.

"Truly?"

"Yes," said T'Pol.

T'Les sighed, realizing that this union of her daughter's was now insoluble, save by death.

"So where is he then?" said T'Les. "Would it have been too much to expect him to pay visit to your mother, and your clan?"

"Danger threatens Vulcan, though you have been told nothing of it, mother," said T'Pol, "and he does his part to spare us that pain."

"Is that so?" said T'Les, for she'd not expected to hear such a thing.

"It is," said T'Pol, "and I ask that you say nothing of it, to anyone. That is important."

"Very well," said T'Les. "What is he like?"

T'Pol pulled up a photo of Trip on her PADD, and showed it to T'Les.

"He's a handsome enough male," said T'Les, her attention held by the Human's piercing blue eyes.

"He is also highly educated, highly intelligent, brave, strong, caring, and he is the love of my life," said T'Pol.

"I look forward to meeting a man of such quality," said T'Les, resolved to make the best of it all.

* * *

Xyrillia was agreeable enough to Soval's entreaty to send envoy to Earth after a three day period of deliberation, but it was on the way to Lorillia that trouble struck the Enterprise, in a most unexpected fashion.

"Captain," said Lt-Commander Malcolm Reed, the ship's Tactical officer. "I have three ships on an intercept course with us."

"Identify."

"I can not, Captain," said Reed. "Their warp signature is unrecognized, and the sensors can not produce a clear hull profile."

"Contact them," said Archer, looking at Ensign Hoshi Sato, the ship's comm officer for the Alpha shift.

"No response, Captain," said Ensign Sato.

"Tactical," said Archer, looking at Reed, "polarize the hull, make weapons hot."

"Aye, sir," said Reed.

"Report our situation to Andoria, Vulcan and Tellar," said Archer, looking to Hoshi.

"Our transmissions are being jammed, Captain," said Hoshi.

"Evasive action," said Archer, and Ensign Travis Mayweather, the ship's Helmsman changed course, and the chase was on.

* * *

Two days after her initial meeting with the High Command, T'Pol had returned once again to the majestic building which housed the chambers of the High Command. She was there, at T'Lenn's request, for that High Councilor had made appointment with a Vulcan mind-priest to verify T'Pol's Bond with the Human Tucker. Though T'Lenn was displeased with this development, and hoped that the priest would expose fraud, there was nothing to be done over it if a Bond between the two truly existed, and though T'Pol had not been under orders to undertake such a test, she did so for her own reasons. An officially tested Bond meant recognition of her union with Commander Tucker, with both clan, and Vulcan society at large.

The test had just been concluded in the chambers of the High Command, and the Bond verified, and T'Pol stood ready to answer still more questions, when she suddenly cried out, and fell to her knees. A medic was called for, but before he could respond, T'Pol looked up at the members of the High Command, and spoke.

"The Enterprise is under Romulan attack," said T'Pol, standing once more, and preserving an image of dispassionate control only through habit. "My mate believes the Romulans wish to kill the ship, and the special envoys aboard the Enterprise, in order to prevent us all acting in concert."

"Location," said Councilor V'Las.

After hearing T'Pol's response, V'Las gave brief orders for Vulcan Navy ships to proceed to that location, and further orders that the Humans, Denobulans, Andorians, Tellarites and Xyrillians be notified of the Enterprise's situation, in case they had military ships nearby which could render aid. That done, V'Las turned his attention back to T'Pol.

"Why did you cry out?" said V'Las.

"My mate suffered a severe burn while attending to his duties," said T'Pol. "May I ask favor and secure a berth on the next ship heading for the Enterprise's last known location?"

Though V'Las had his own reason to deny T'Pol's request, just as he wished that he could have avoided giving the orders which he'd given earlier to render aid to the Enterprise, the forms had to be maintained, and his actions seem logical, as the members of the High Command, their actions and their probable motives were under close scrutiny.

No matter, thought V'Las. The Romulans will destroy the Enterprise long before help can reach the ship.

"Head for the shuttle bay on the roof of this building," said V'Las. "I will have a berth for you by the time you take the air."

"Gratitude, High Councilor," said T'Pol, then spun on her heels to rush for the roof.


	34. Chapter 34

— **Chapter 34—**

The flight and fight of the Enterprise lasted a surprisingly long time of just over five hours, but at the end of it all, the ship was boarded and the crew imprisoned, for the Enterprise had given all that she could give in defense of her crew, and given the distances involved, it was six hours later before the first of the reinforcements began trickling in even at high warp speed, and they then immediately began taking sensor readings, and recovering physical evidence of the attack.

By the time T'Pol reached the scene some three hours after the first responders in the Vulcan vessel named Sellera, she found six Vulcan cruisers, a Tellarite frigate, two Andorian battlecruisers, and the Human sister ship to the Enterprise, named the Columbia. They were all combing through the wreckage, when T'Pol received orders to accompany the captain of the Sellera to the Vulcan flagship To'Mak. Once there T'Pol and the Sellera's captain were guided by a Vulcan officer to a large conference room, where she saw the captains of every other ship waiting for them. The meeting was chaired by the Vulcan Admiral L'Rass, and he wasted no time bringing the latecomers up to speed.

"It is clear that we have located the Enterprise here, and we have studied the ship's wreck and the debris field with both energy scanners," said Admiral L'Rass, "and found two dozen corpses in the process, but this number does not account for the full complement of the crew or the special envoys and their aides."

"The bodies could have been dispersed by the energy of the explosion, no?" said Korsos, the Tellarite captain.

"Given the relatively low-speeds we're speaking of here," said L'Rass, "they would still be well within our short ranger sensor range, but even so, we've sent out some two dozen shuttles to finely scan the region, and they have located nothing."

"That means that these were battle casualties," said Captain Erika Hernandez, the commander of the Columbia. "The Romulans took the living captive."

"Your logic is sound, Captain, but we can improve on that, I believe," said L'Rass, pointing towards T'Pol. "That is why she is here."

"What can you do, T'Pol?" said Erika, looking curiously at the Vulcan, for she'd heard of the Vulcan through her private communications with Captain Archer.

Every eye turned to T'Pol, and she said, "Given the time which has passed since the attack in the Enterprise, the Romulan warp trails have dispersed, and the Romulans will likely be feeling secure over the matter. However, Commander Tucker, the Chief Engineer of the Enterprise, and I are mated, which means we share a psychic bond, and I believe that we can use that bond to locate the rest of the crew, and then use it to our advantage to rescue our people."

"I mean no disrespect," said Korsos the Tellarite, looking at T'Pol, "but how do you know that your mate is not among the corpses we've recovered? You just got here."

"When one of a Vulcan mated pair dies, the other dies soon after, within hours, or within days," said T'Pol, "and the loss of the other is felt immediately, and painfully. I have not felt that loss, so my mate still lives. He is unconscious now, but when he wakes, I hope to get some useful data from him."

"So we wait here until T'Pol makes contact with her mate?" said Shissian, one of the Andorian captains.

"We have recently conducted a large raid, with the aid of StarFleet," said L'Rass, "which freed some five thousand Vulcans and gave us a good deal of data on the Romulans, including navigational data. In addition, we captured and mind-probed some fifty Romulans captured by our soldiers. I think it is safe to assume for now, that the Romulans are heading towards their own sector of space with the Enterprise's crew. We should set course in that general direction, while we wait for Commander Tucker to regain consciousness."

"I can also give a rough heading and distance to some degree, and I agree with the Admiral," said T'Pol. "My mate is far from here, moving at high warp speed. We should move in pursuit without further delay."

"Three more Andorian battlecruiser will be here within the hour," said Shissian, "and if we wait here another day or so, we can have ten more, three days and we add another fifteen, and so on. I suggest we wait for reinforcements."

"I truly appreciate your offer, Captain," said T'Pol, "given the history of our two peoples, but in this case, time may be the most important factor. We should wait here for the three of your ships which are expected within the hour, but we can not wait for the rest."

"All right. I'm in," said Shissian. "Those Romulans took an Andorian envoy captive, and two of his assistants were among the corpses we found. The Imperial Guards must make a gesture of displeasure which these Romulans will understand. Killing some Romulans should do well enough."

Bel Orass, the other Andorian captain nodded his agreement with Shissian, as did Korsos, the Tellarite captain.

"We are of like mind then," said Admiral L'Rass.

Some forty-three minutes later, the three expected Andorian battlecruisers, captained by Shran, Aber and Oshroll made the scene, and after brief introductions, this formidable little armada of fourteen ships set course for the Romulan sector at Warp 5.

* * *

Trip grew conscious slowly, and painfully. His head felt about ready to explode, not to mention the pain coming from the burn on his right shoulder. At least these Romulan pricks had allowed a medic to care for, and bandage that burn. Trip groaned, opened his eyes, and slowly rose to a sitting position. He looked around the dimly lit interior of the ship, to see what was left of the Enterprise's crew and the various envoys, then noticed both Malcolm and Jon making their way towards him.

"Good to have you back, Trip," said Malcolm, and Jon nodded.

"Where are we?" said Trip. "What is this ship?"

"A Romulan troop transport," said Jon, "or a livestock transport. Who the hell knows, so take your pick. How's your head?"

"Throbbing," said Trip. "How long has this ship been moving?"

Jon made a guess, looked to Malcolm, who confirmed it with a nod.

Looking out a small porthole, and judging speed, Trip said, "We're moving at about Warp 5 now. Have we maintained this speed this entire time?"

"Yes," said Jon. "What's with all the questions?"

"I'll tell you in a bit," said Trip. "Now I need a few minutes of silence."

"Sure," said Jon, assuming that Trip was dealing with an excruciating headache.

Trip closed his eyes, silenced his mind for a bit, then reached out for T'Pol.

—Trip! sent T'Pol to her mate's mind. I am so glad to hear from you!

—Hey, baby, sent Trip. I bet you're glad we dropped you off on Vulcan now, eh?

—No, I am not. Do you know where you are?

—No idea, T'Pol, but we've been moving at Warp 5 for ten hours or so."

—We have your general heading, Trip, and paired with your information, we can make a decent guess as to your location. Hang on! We are coming for you.

—I don't know baby, sent Trip with grim humor. Maybe this is the universe's way of telling me that I need to find a sweet Romulan girl and settle down, leave the rat race, raise a family. You and Jon could hook up, and probably both make Admiral in ten years.

—You know how bad your head feels now? sent T'Pol. It will feel worse when I get my hands on you, because I plan to bat it around like a pinata!

—Temper, temper, T'Pol, sent Trip along with a mental chuckle. Vulcans should not allow anger to get the best of them.

—I am not angry, Commander Tucker. I am a Vulcan. We do not get angry.

—Right, sent Trip. I have to go now, fill Jon and Malcolm in on our conversation, have them pass word around to take notice of any physical data when we drop out of subspace, then I need to sleep some more.

—Ok, sent T'Pol, and her undercurrent of worry for her mate was clear to Trip. I love you Trip.

—I know, baby. I love you too.

* * *

The Romulan captives hovered in this limbo for ten days as the Romulan ships took their charges to an unknown destination, and Trip spent much of that time in silent commune with T'Pol, but eventually, at the end of the tenth day, Malcolm shook Trip awake, and motioned him to join him and the captain at one of the small portholes.

"Time to work your magic with T'Pol, Trip," said Jon, as Trip drew close.

"What's up, Captain?" said Trip, noting that the ships had dropped out of warp.

"I think we've reached our destination," said Archer, "and you need to pass this info to our rescuers: blue star, two ice planets, a green gas giant, and a rocky planetoid. There may be others planets out there that we missed, but the blue star and green gas giant should be enough for them to hone in on us."

"Right," said Trip, then an instant later, said, "Done."

"That's a neat trick you two have," said Malcolm.

Trip snickered, and said, "And this is the least of it, Malcolm."

"What do you mean?" said Jon, taking an interest in the conversation now.

"Forget it," said Trip.

"No, damn it," said Jon. "We've been stuck in this tin can for ten days, and I need something juicy."

Malcolm nodded his agreement with the captain.

"Ok," said Trip, "but if this gets back to T'Pol, I'll kill you both. I won't even bother trying to discover which one of you is the guilty party."

"Deal," said Jon, and Malcolm nodded his agreement.

"Well, the Bond T'Pol and I share is a mental construct, you understand?," said Trip. "We can meet physically if you will, inside this mental construct, and the way we experience this construct is greatly shaped by imagination."

"Ok," said Jon, and Malcolm said, "Yes. So what?"

"So last night while you two were humping those straw mats the Romulans have deigned to give us," said Trip, "T'Pol felt playful, and came to me in an Orion dancer's outfit, with long hair, and and Orion's green skin, and she danced for me, and then we did more than dance, all night long. And it all felt as real as you and I speaking now. I think tonight I'll ask her to be a Klingon. T'Pol will look cute with head ridges. And tomorrow nigh-"

"You cock!" said Malcolm with real venom in his voice.

"You bastard!" said Jon, after first muttering a much fouler insult.

"Hey, come on guys," said Trip, with a shit-eating grin.

"Shut the hell up!" said Malcolm, who had been attracted to T'Pol in the past, and had nursed some idle fantasies before his best friend claimed her.

"Malcolm's right!" said Jon. "Shut your pie hole, Trip, or I'll shut it for you!"

"Easy, easy," said Trip, laughing at them. "We need to get our heads back in the game."

"I guess," said Jon, giving Trip a dark look, matched by the one Malcolm gave Trip.

Despite his own advice, Trip couldn't help but start laughing again, and once he started, he couldn't stop.


	35. Chapter 35

— **Chapter 35—**

—Trip! sent T'Pol, and undercurrent of alarm in her psyche, for she felt an echo of her mate's pain in her mind. What is happening to you?

—I'm getting the stuffing beat out of me, sent Trip.

—Why? sent T'Pol.

It took a few moments for her mate to respond, and it that time T'Pol felt a knee driven into her mate's stomach, then an elbow slammed against the side of his head.

—Does it matter? sent Trip. How long 'till the cavalry gets here?

—We are still two hours out, sent T'Pol, then winced to herself, as she felt a boot slam on her hand, well her mate's hand, probably breaking some bones.

Only a mental grunt from her mate in response.

—I hate to press you now, sent T'Pol suppressing her emotion, but can you give us any information that might be of use to us? The Andorians have the best sensors among us, and even they can't tell us anything about that system.

A momentary pause, and the sensation of her mate screaming, then her mate sent message.

—There's a great deal of minute debris in this system, so some kind of major planetary collision might have taken place insystem recently, speaking on a geological timescale, sent Trip. I suspect that there's also a higher than normal radiation load as well. The Romulans have kept their shields up, even though there's no danger for them here.

Another pause while Trip took some more hits, then the man's thought stream resumed.

—We've pulled in at a space station which orbits the green gas giant. We've counted ten Romulan ships at the station. As for us, they're sorting us out into groups. Men separated from women, Humans from aliens, officers from crewmen.

T'Pol understood the Romulan's purpose in doing so, and waited silently for the better part of four minutes, as Trip was assaulted viciously once more, then waited silently for Trip to deal with the pain.

—I believe they'll move us to the station in a while, but now they're making an example of the officers, and select others, that resistance has a cost. The Tellarite envoy was first for striking a Romulan and he might be dead by the looks of it, then Malcolm took a beating, now it's my turn, then Jon, then the rest of the Lieutenants and Ensigns.

—Hang in there, please! sent T'Pol. We are coming!

* * *

1st Prefix Vrujal, the Romulan commander put in charge of this alien filth moved past an unconscious Trip, and then Archer as two troopers dragged the bleeding Human to the side of the room.

"That one," said Vrujal.

The Prefix had pointed out a dark-skinned Human and the four Romulans administering the beatings moved for Travis with grins on their faces, and moments later Travis's beating had begun.

"You are still alive for one reason only," said Vrujal, "and that is to provide us with information. Whether or not you live after that is up to you. Cooperate with us, and you will be sent to one of our labor colonies afterwards, where you may have hope of one day purchasing your freedom."

A Romulan's foot kick landed against the side of Travis's head with a nasty degree of force, and the man went limp immediately.

"Resist us," said Vrujal drawing his disruptor pistol from its holster, "and you will die."

With casual disregard for sentient life, the Romulan discharged his weapon twice into the body of the Tellarite. If he wasn't dead before, he was dead now.

* * *

"Suggestions," said L'Rass.

The Vulcan Admiral had just briefed the other captains on the situation, and looked at the Bridge monitor, where the captain's images were displayed in a grid pattern.

"We go in blasting," said Korsos, the Tellarite captain. "We outnumber the Romulans, and we kill them all."

"That seems the logical way to go," said L'Rass, who wished to send the Romulans a message that the Vulcans would not be easy game, then looked at the Andorians, although technically only Captain Shran's opinion would matter, for he was the senior captain, and the Imperial Guards were a strongly hierarchical organization.

"We are agreed, but I suggest the following modification to our simple plan," said Shran, and briefly described his plan. "The Imperial Guards will handle that part of it."

"I like it," said Captain Hernandez of the Columbia, and the other captains nodded their agreement.

For her part, T'Pol was just relieved that she was drawing closer to her mate with every second which passed.

* * *

The allied attack came as a complete surprise to the Romulans, for the same interference which hindered the allied sensors also hindered the Romulan's own detection sensors, which would have warned them of danger. The seven Vulcan ships came first, flanked by the Tellarite and Human ships and they made way directly for the Romulan warships, phasers and torpedoes lancing out ahead of the ships to make first contact with the enemy. Meanwhile, the five Andorian ships made way directly for the troop transport ship, blasting the Bridge of that ship to hell with massed phaser fire, decompressing the Romulan Bridge, and killing every Romulan on duty there. Three of the Andorians then turned to the fray, while the other two Andorian ships locked tractor beams onto the transport ship and warped out of the system at high warp.

* * *

"Attack!" said Malcolm, for Trip was still unconscious, and Captain Archer barely moving.

The Lieutenant jumped to his feet, along with every other crewman, and charged the ten Romulans in their section of the troop transport. Every Romulan reached for their disruptor, and got some two dozen shots into the crew of the Enterprise, before being overcome and killed in turn.

* * *

The battle in space was won by the allied forces, at a cost. The Tellarite ship was destroyed, though half of the crew was saved. The Human ship Columbia, was in bad shape, and would need to be hauled back to Vulcan by tractor beam, where Vulcan engineers would have her back up in a matter of weeks. Four of the Vulcan ships were badly damaged as well, but that damage could be repaired. Of the ten Romulan ships, seven had been destroyed, and three had warped out of the system. The allied forces blew the station to bits, then warped out, heading for home.

* * *

Trip woke in a most elegant Sick Bay, colored in two shades of gray, and one shade of blue, only to be greeted by an Andorian doctor.

"What happened?" said Trip.

"You were rescued, and your ship avenged," said the Andorian, for his clip on comm unit translator app was now programmed with English. "A number of your crew were killed, or badly wounded during the course of the rescue, and we brought the wounded aboard."

"How many dead?"

"Some three hundred spread out among all of us. From your crew, fourteen dead," said the Andorian, "and another ten wounded, in addition the those of you who took a beating. All the living will make a full recovery in time."

"Good," said Trip. "What's my condition?"

"You'll be all right," said the doctor. "In pain for two or three weeks, but I'll give you some pills to help you through it."

"Where are we?" said Trip, and the Andorian was about to answer, when the door opened, and another Andorian entered Sick Bay.

"Ah," said the newly come Andorian, noting that Trip was conscious and making way to his bedside. "It's good to see you wake, PinkSkin. I was told the Romulans did quite a number on you."

"They did," said Trip. "I'm grateful for your assistance…"

"Shran," said the Andorian. "I'm this ship's captain."

"Well, I owe you one, Captain," said Trip.

"I was just about to say that, PinkSkin," said Shran with a grin.

"Trip, or Commander Tucker, Captain," said Trip. "Take your pick."

"Is he restricted to Sick Bay?" said Shran, looking at the doctor.

"No," said the doctor, "just don't challenge him to a wrestling match."

Shran laughed, and said, "Come on, Trip. Have lunch with me. I'll introduce you to Andorian Ale. You won't even remember your pain."

"I'm all for that, Captain," said Trip, rising slowly from his bed.

"Call me Shran."

* * *

Hours later, Malcolm woke and painfully swung round on his bed, feeling like he'd been run through a cotton gin. An attractive Andorian female watched him, then raised the top half of her bed with the press of a button. She watched Malcolm with a bold, yet still femine look, which Malcolm found intriguing. He nodded to the Andorian, and she reached for her comm unit and spoke in Andorian, which was quickly translated to English.

"What the hell happened to you, Human?"

"I took a beating."

"Did you hit them back?"

"Considering that Romulans reward resistance with death, I chose the cowards way out," said Malcolm, "and took my beating with a smile."

The Andorian chuckled at that, then winced, for three of her ribs were fractured, and said, "You'll get them next time."

"How do you know there will be a next time?" said Malcolm.

"I always trust my feelings, Human," said the Andorian, "and I have a good feeling about you."

"Oh?" said Malcolm, taking note of the Andorian's cute face, shapely figure just barely concealed by the thin blanket, and the one sexy leg which laid exposed atop her blanket. "I'm Lt-Commander Malcolm Reed."

"Pleased," said the Andorian. "I'm Lt. Talas."

"Well, Lt. Talas," said Malcolm, "I'm going to hop on over to the Mess Hall and get something hot to drink. May I get you anything?"

"Our chef took on some juicy Risan grapes at our last stop," said Talas. "I could eat some, but it pains me to raise my arms. Perhaps you could lay next to me when you return, and feed them to me?"

Malcolm grinned, and said, "Gladly, Lt. Talas."

* * *

"I'm sorry things turned out so badly, Ambassador," said a bruised and beaten Archer to Soval, who was visiting with the wounded, he having fortunately avoided any physical harm during this entire escapade.

"It was not your fault, Captain," said Soval. "You and your crew did everything possible, and if anything, all of our peoples now see the value of cooperation against the Romulans, and perhaps that will give the Romulans pause before initiating a war."

"Here's hoping," said Archer, knowing deep down that the Romulans would not stop, ever, unless they were soundly beaten: still, Soval was likely right, and this episode bought them all some time, before the shooting started.

* * *

That night, in Shran's quarters, for the Andorian captain had a pull out couch and made Trip an offer he found preferable to returning to Sick Bay, Trip was about to fall asleep, when he received T'Pol's sending through the Bond.

—Your place?

—Yes, he sent.

T'Pol had a dirty little secret, in that she preferred the use her mate made of his private place, for where her private place was a featureless nothing of white, all the better to aid her in meditation, her mate's place was series of lush tropical islands surrounded by blue and green waters overflowing with fish, as the island was populated by all manner of birds and harmless wildlife.

Given that T'Pol could enter into a meditative trance in a matter of seconds, while her mate took ten minutes or so, T'Pol got there first, at the large island on which Trip had imagined his gear, and which he considered his home base. She looked up at the towering mountain covered to the top with vegetation, then to the large bamboo tree house in which they'd spent quite few nights, looked then around the clearing, noted the friendly Siamese cat named Samantha which kept Trip company when he came here alone. Movement out on the water drew her attention, and she noted Trip approaching swiftly in his slender twenty foot long sea kayak, wearing nothing but a smile an a pair of shorts. Oh, he loved this place, and she loved it too, and loved him as well. Now if only she could get out of this armor quickly, in order to enjoy the sun and water on her skin!

The next morning Trip woke as Shran allowed his steward to roll in a cart with two breakfast trays, a pot of hot tea, and a pot of hot coffee, and soon Human and Andorian were breaking bread in amiable silence.

Finally, Shran said, "What was all that whimpering I heard last night?"

"What?"

"You whimpered half the night," said Shran.

"Oh, sorry about that," said Trip. "I was dreaming about T'Pol."

"Yes," said Shran, "your Vulcan mate. Whatever possessed you to mate with a Vulcan? It's an act of madness!"

"I don't know, Shran," said Trip, remembering the pleasure he'd taken in stripping armor off the Klingon T'Pol, and making her pay a heavy price for transgressing on his special place, "but it has it's perks."


End file.
